Damage Done
by They-Call-Me-Orange
Summary: "Guys like that only respond to one thing." Adam needs to decide if he's going to continue to be a victim. Eli makes his opinion quite clear. "Violence." AU. INDEFINITE HIATUS
1. Ch1: Time Bomb

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** Hey. Turns out I'm not dead. Sorry, Everyone. This story is about Adam, because I love him. Also, it's dark. See below.

MANY THANKS to my incredible betas **drevil99** and **TwistedRaver** without whom this fic would not exist. Check out TwistedRaver on youtube - her Adam/Eli "Riot" vid was the inspiration for this fic.

**Warnings:** drugs, alcohol, self-harm, physical and sexual abuse, foul language, frank discussions of sex and gender, and general ungentlemanly behavior. I WILL fuck with your OTP. Be prepared.

**UPDATE 12/30/10: **A quick note about the circumstances of the story. **THIS DOES NOT TAKE PLACE IN CANON**. Some major plot-points are lifted from what we've seen on the show, but the majority of the circumstances surrounding Adam/the Rest of the World are entirely AU. Basically, I got to pick and choose what to keep, because, I mean, let's face it; the show does a lot of stupid stuff all the time. I'll be including some version of this note in the second chapter as well.

* * *

Adam and Eli met for the first time (the first time that counted) outside of Mr. Perrino's room. They both had detention and Perrino was late showing up. They recognized each other, were vaguely familiar, and Eli slid next to Adam against the wall and asked if he took notes in English and if he'd mind sharing them.

When detention was over Eli handed back Adam's notebook and suggested they get a burger or something. Adam obliged, allowing himself a bright burst of hope at the prospect of having made a friend. He'd been at Degrassi a few weeks and so far they'd been incredibly lonely. His only company had been Drew (brothers don't count, though, right?) and a couple nerdy kids from a few of his classes. He wasn't really friends with Connor, Wes, or Dave, but they recognized their shared weakness (smarter but not stronger than the other boys) and gathered loosely in the same space, for safety.

"What'd you get detention for?" Eli asked, sipping on a vanilla coke, bangs hanging low over his eyes.

"Late to class," Adam responded shortly. He'd been forced to adopt an alternate route from math to French since the beginning of the week. It was longer and quite tedious, but the only way he was guaranteed a bully-free passing period. Two older boys at school had taken a slight interest in fucking with him, and while the harassment wasn't too bad (certainly not the worst he'd endured) he was doing his best not to exacerbate it. Degrassi was really his only shot at trying to make his life work (he couldn't bear the thought of forcing Drew to uproot and switch schools again, all because of _his_ stupid malfunctions) and the last thing he needed was to be exposed again.

"Ah," Eli nodded.

"You?" Adam shifted wondering if this was how the conversation was supposed to go. God, he hated feeling so awkward.

Eli smirked "Same."

It was a lie, that much was obvious. Adam shrugged and decided it would be wiser not to press the issue. He could draw a few conclusions from the swelling of Eli's lip and the yellow-green of the healing bruise along his cheekbone. There was no point in making Eli say it.

The waiter brought their food out and Adam gratefully dug into his burger, hoping that a shared task would ease the tension between himself and his macabre detention-buddy.

The meal did help. Things became a bit easier. They talked between mouthfuls and Adam found himself increasingly comfortable with the other boy. Elijah Goldsworthy was a grade 11 student. They discovered a shared love of Dead Hand, _The Goon_ comic books, and horror films.

When they finished they walked back to the Degrassi parking lot because Eli has offered him a ride home. Adam was surprised, but not nearly as much as he felt like he should be when he found out Eli drove a hearse. It was fitting. He thought briefly of the film _Harold and Maude_ and wanted to make a joke but he thought of Eli's busted face and his own inability to read social situations and kept his mouth shut.

When they pulled up outside of his house he took his time getting out of the car. His movements were sluggish and after exiting he just stood on the curb a few long moments. He stared at the lights on in his house and dreaded going inside. His limbs felt heavy, like lead. More than that, he felt so _tired_ at the prospect of having to go and jump through hoops for his parents. He wanted to get back in the car and drive someplace else with Eli. Or just turn around walk in the opposite direction. To sleep in the park for the night, or just stay awake. To do anything, anywhere but home.

"Hey, Adam," Eli called, turning down the music. Adam jumped a bit, and turned back to face him, having already forgotten about the other boy's presence.

"Yeah?" crap. He hadn't caught his voice that time. He grimaced at the high pitch but Eli didn't seem to notice.

"I got the director's cut of _Re-Animator_ on DVD last week. What do you say you bring _Satan's Sodomy Baby_ to school tomorrow and we swap for the weekend?"

_Satan's Sodomy Baby_ was his favorite issue of anything in the _Goon_ universe.. It was the single most fucked up comic he'd ever read, but incredibly hilarious, and awesome, and it cost him almost $60 on eBay. He kept it in a Mylar bag under his bed, where his mother couldn't see it (she didn't allow _filth_ in her home) and only brought it out when he needed a particularly good laugh after a particularly shitty day. He didn't _want_ to share it.

"Sure," he agreed.

Eli's slow, sideways smirk slid onto his face. He always looked smug; like he knew something no one else did. Like life was all just one big joke and he was the only one that _got it_. Some private punchline that he wasn't inclined to share with anyone. Adam wondered why he didn't find Eli's attitude more annoying.

"Cool," He started the car back up. "Good hanging out with you. Catch you tomorrow."

He turned the music back up to obnoxious levels and drove away, tires squealing a bit. Adam stood on the curb, backpack dangling from one hand, and watched as he turned the corner and the sounds of his favorite Dead Hand record faded into the night.

He stood there until his phone vibrated in his pocket. Slowly he pulled it out and read the text Drew sent him.

**Dude where r u? mom is FLIPPING OUT get ur ass homf**

He shut his eyes tightly and sighed, pocketing his phone and trudged up the steps to his door.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

When he walked into English the next day he noticed Eli sitting in the back, chatting casually with a girl from class. He looked up as Adam walked in, flashed his trademark smirk and waved him over.

"Adam, this is Clare," Eli began. "Clare, Adam. He's going to be sitting with us now."

His overwhelming excitement at having possibly found a clique overrode his annoyance over the fact that Eli hadn't exactly given him a choice.

"Nice to meet you," Clare said sincerely and Adam snapped out of his reverie to look at her.

She was beautiful. She had a gorgeous face and the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. A sweet smell hung in the air around her, but it was hard for him to tell if it was her perfume or something one of the other girls in the class had sprayed. It didn't matter. He felt his cheeks getting hot and wanted to slam his head into the wall until he stopped acting like a complete fucking freak.

"Uh, you too," he managed, voice slightly strained. Eli watched him, a rather intense look on his face and Adam fought down a wave of panic. Oh shit. What if they were together? What if Eli was a psycho and could tell Adam thought Clare was hot and was now mentally putting together an alphabetized list of all the most painful ways he could murder Adam? What if he just blew it and he was stuck eating lunch with "the Three Tenners" and Drew all year?

Oh, _god_, he did _not_ want to be the fourth Tenner.

The bell rang and Ms. Dawes got up from her desk and walked to the blackboard.

"Alright, everyone in their seats. Take out last night's homework and pass it one person back, we're going to see how well you all did."

A couple minutes into class he felt someone tapping his shoulder, glancing back he saw Eli leaning forward, holding out a piece of paper. Adam grabbed the note quickly, glancing nervously at Ms. Dawes as she wrote vocabulary words on the board for them to copy.

**Did you bring the comic?**

Adam sighed, relieved that Eli isn't about to start threatening him with death or dismemberment.

_Yeah. In my backpack. I'll give it to you later. I do NOT_ _need to be busted with this thing._

**Is it really that fucked up? I've heard good things.**

_Dude. It's called Satan's Sodomy Baby for a reason._

Adam heard Eli chuckle behind him.

"Mr. Goldsworthy?" Dawes' sharp voice cut across the classroom. "Anything to share?"

It took all of Adam's willpower _not_ to look back at Eli's face. He really, really hoped that Dawes hadn't seen them passing the note.

"No?" he offered, sounding uncharacteristically feeble.

Adam shivered at the full force of Dawes' glare, glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

"Certainly," Eli agreed quickly.

Adam smiled. It was comforting to know that Eli was capable of fear. It indicated his ability to feel human emotions beyond smugness and derision.

When the bell rang and everyone began to slip their work back into their backpacks Eli tapped him on the shoulder.

"Meet us at lunch."

Adam nodded slowly, slipping the strap of his backpack over one shoulder and rising. "Where?"

"Outside." And with one more coy smile in Clare's direction, Eli slipped out of class.

He and Clare stood there silently for a few moments. The awkward smile she shot him before she walked away left his legs feeling like jelly.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach had fluctuated from dull ache to all-consuming dread several times since English class. His cautious hope that lunch with Eli today will work out was constantly being tempered by the nagging feeling that this was just some awful trick and that Eli would drop the act and do something _awful_ as soon as he had the chance.

So when the bell rang indicating that French was over and lunch had begun, Adam didn't rush out the door with the other students.

He trudged anxiously to his locker, slowly spun the correct combination and switched out the proper books. He was careful to avoid any place Drew might catch him; despite his apprehension about Eli he didn't want to run into Drew and end up eating with his brother.

By the time he made it to the caf lunch had been on for 10 minutes. He debated skipping the lunch line and just trying to find Eli, but decided that if today was going to be anything like yesterday food will be a good distraction.

He slipped outside after he grabbed his food and spotted them almost immediately; Eli's all-black getup really stood out among the rest of Degrassi's more cheerfully dressed student body.

He made it halfway to the them before pausing apprehensively.

Eli was leaning across the table, one palm flat down, the other hand making expressive movements in the air. Clare, too, was leaning forward, all big pretty eyes and this wide innocent smile. She was twirling her hair between two fingers and listening eagerly. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but Eli's tone was low and warm and the light blush on Clare's cheeks told Adam everything he needed to know about the nature of the conversation.

Then she looked up and saw him. Her smile remained, but it changed from coquettish to winsome at seeing him.

Eli looked over his shoulder and smirked. He raised his eyebrows as Adam stood, still hesitant. Noticing Adam falter Eli rolled his eyes and beckoned him over with a casual jerk of his head.

He sat down on the same side of the table as Clare, taking care to leave an ample space between the two of them; afraid of overstepping some line invisible line in the sand and offending Eli.

"Starting to think you wouldn't show," Eli remarked offhandedly.

Adam shrugged.

"Worried your reputation's gonna take a hit?" Eli challenged. His voice light, like it might have been a joke, but Adam noted a distinct note of accusation under the words.

He snorted. "Yeah, my "_reputation;_"I'd sure hate to go from '_weirdo new kid_' to_ 'weirdo new kid with friends.'"_

Eli's increasingly familiar, slow sideways smirk took over his face once more and Adam felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit.

"So you _are_ new, then?" Clare asked.

Adam nodded, shoveling food into his mouth. It had the consistency of mashed potatoes but tasted vaguely of corn mush.

"Well, where are you from?"

_She's just making conversation._ He told himself. _She's just being polite_. But it was hard not to fight back the wave of nervousness and fear that shot through him. It was ridiculous, it wasn't like he could just show up in a new school and hope to make friends (or just fucking _exist_) without ever talking about his life before Degrassi. God, she'd only asked _where he came from_, not for his fucking birth certificate.

"St. Catherines," he answered stiltedly.

"Oh wow," she breathed. "Just across the lake. Have you ever been to the Falls?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "A couple times."

"I went once," she offered. "With my parents and my sister. We were kids, I barely remember it. It was really loud, though."

"Yeah," he agreed awkwardly. "Pretty loud, I guess."

Eli shot him a look, equal parts amused and dismayed.

Adam felt his cheeks getting hot. "What about you?"

Clare blinked. "What _about_ me?"

"Uh," he coughed a bit, wondering why the fuck he couldn't just be _normal_. "You're not new at Degrassi, are you?"

"Oh," she smiled again. "No, I've been here a year. My sister went here before me..."

She trailed off, the smile dropping from her face.

Adam made a mental note to avoid talking about family with her.

"You?" Adam asked turning to Eli, eager to avoid uncomfortable topics with Clare.

"Transfer student," Eli confirmed. "I went to Bardell."

"Cool," Adam said. He tried desperately for a moment to think of something to continue the conversation before giving up and shoving something vaguely biscuit-like into his mouth.

"Have you been going here since school started last month?" Clare asked, with some incredulity.

He nodded.

"That's funny," she remarked, with a guilty shrug. "I guess I never noticed you before."

"That's what I was going for," he admitted before he could stop himself.

"Shy, Adam?" Eli challenged, mocking evident in his voice.

Adam glowered at him darkly, shoving a spoonful of corn into his mouth. "It's not shyness," he defended around a mouthful. "It's self-preservation."

Eli held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. "Know what's better than self preservation?"

Adam swallowed and took a sip of milk. He was fairly sure Eli didn't want an actual response, anyway.

"Self Defense."

Adam paused, setting his carton of milk down on the table. Eli had that intense look on his face again. Their gazes were locked. Adam wanted to look away, but for some reason he couldn't seem to bring himself to back down from the challenge Eli was sending his way, even if he didn't fully understand it.

"I guess," he answered slowly. "If that's an option for you."

Eli shook his head. "Trust me. It's always an option."

Adam shifted beginning to feel uncomfortable. "But what if-"

"_Adam_," Eli cut him off. "It is _always_ an option."

Clare looked nervous, not quite understanding what the dark, meaningful looks between the boys meant.

"I guess we'll see," Adam relented, if only to end the weird... moment, they were having.

"Guess we will," Eli agreed, tone almost bright as he balled up his lunch bag and tossed it into the trash can a few feet from the table.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

When the final bell rang for the day a noticeable air of relief swept the classroom. Today was Friday. Eager students jumped up from their desks, sling their backpacks over their shoulders and race to the door, their annoyed teacher calling out last minute assignments futilely at their retreating backs.

Adam wasn't among them. He stayed in his seat, forehead pressed against the wood of the desk until the classroom was empty and the teacher, worried, called his name.

"You doing okay, Adam?" asked Mr. Bince, voice tinged with genuine concern.

Adam cringed and lifted his head off the desk. He had completely spaced out and didn't realize that everyone was already gone.

"Yeah. Fine, Mr. B. Just... tired," he shrugged sheepishly and picked up his backpack. "See you Monday."

The halls were still packed with jostling bodies. The squeak of shoes on tile, the slamming of lockers, the incessant, pointless chatter – it was all enough to drive someone crazy. Adam pressed his back against the wall next to the water fountain and tried to wait it out.

Drew had football practice today effectively postponing Adam's weekend for at least another hour and a half. He was more or less used to it, and most of the time it didn't detract too much from his mood but he was tired and 80% sure he bombed the pop quiz in French and he just wanted to be at home, on his bed, listening to Dead Hand and reading the latest issue of _The Boys _or something equally as violent and ridiculous.

When the halls cleared out Adam went to his locker and switched out the books he'd need for the weekend. He wandered around the campus for a bit, hoping to run into Eli or Clare but they never made plans to hang out after school and it looked like they were long gone. Adam pushed back the feeling of disappointment and found a quiet spot in the halls to sit down and work on the weekend homework Bince had assigned.

"Hey faggot!" a harsh voice broke Adam's concentration. He jumped, pencil scratching a dark line on the page, his head whipping toward the source of the disturbance.

_Oh shit._

Mark Fitzgerald.

"Just checking," he mocked.

Adam' wasn't entirely sure just _what_ he did to rouse the ire of Mark Fitzgerald; all he knew was that for a good two weeks or so the boy had delighted in whatever small steps he could take to make Adam's life just that much harder. It started with Fitz and a couple of his idiot friends calling him out between classes. All-in-all, it wasn't too bad; mostly Fitz called him gay, or a nerd, or a gay nerd – general uncreative taunting that Adam had long been familiar with. What really worried him was the chance of the harassment escalating. The thought of having a fulltime bully once again made him want to vomit.

Adam froze, fists clenched tightly, face white. He tried slow the frantic beating of his heart and wipe the desperate, anxious expression from his face but it was too late. Something lit up in Fitz's eyes and he stepped closer.

_Blood in the water_.

_Ohshitohshitohshit._

Adam grit his teeth and broke eye contact, flipping his pencil over to erase the mark he'd left on his homework.

"Writing poetry?" Fitz stepped closer. Adam kept his eyes resolutely on his paper, trying his best not to acknowledge the familiar desperate fear settling deep in his gut. "Or a letter to your boyfriend?"

There was a beat of silence. Adam's shaky hand continued to guide his pencil along the worksheet.

"Hey, you fucking piece of shit, I'm _talking_ to you!" Fitz erupted, kicking Adam's notebook off his lap, sending papers flying across the hall.

Adam flinched violently and pressed his back hard against the wall. He kept his eyes trained to the floor in front of him, terrified of making eye contact. This wasn't going well – Fitz could already tell that Adam was scared and that meant he was done-for.

_Look at him_, he thought angrily to himself. _Look at him, you fucking idiot. Stand up for yourself. He'll back off, he's just a coward_.

"Hey," Fitz's voice was quiet. Threatening. "Hey, retard. You made a mess." He stepped closer, his foot right next to Adam's hand on the ground. "Clean it up."

Adam hesitated for a moment and Fitz slammed his palm against the wall next to Adam's head. He leaned down. "I said clean it up, fag." His voice was still eerily quiet and controlled.

Adam took a deep breath, trying not to shudder, and leaned forward. His heart was beating so fast, so loudly, he was certain Fitz could hear it. _Stand up for yourself, _his body kept screaming at him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He crawled along the ground gathering his papers up and slipping them back into his notebook. When he reached for his pencil, Fitz stepped over and kicked it away, forcing Adam to rise and walk across the hall to retrieve it.

Finally after several long, embarrassing, tense moments he'd collected all of his scattered belongings. He stood anxiously in the middle of the hall, not sure if he should look up at Fitz or keep his eyes averted.

Fitz took several steps forward and stopped about a foot away. "Well?" he asked, expectantly.

Adam looked up, confused. "Well... what?" he ventured, cautiously.

"Didn't your fucking mother teach you anything, dipshit?" Fitz snarled. "Aren't you going to fucking thank me for helping you clean your shit up?"

Adam felt the bitterness, familiar and hard, rising up his throat and had to literally bite on his tongue to keep from lashing out.

_Stand up for yourself._

_Be a man_.

He squared his shoulders, let out a long, slow breath.

Be a man.

He looked up and locked eyes with Fitz.

_Fuck you_. The words were on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was push them past his lips.

But Fitz took another step closer and suddenly they were nose-to-nose. He could feel Fitz's breath on his face. It took all of his willpower not to look down, not to flinch, not to run away.

"Well?"

And suddenly it was months ago and he was back in the halls of his old school with the awful sinister hiss of "fucking freak" and "tranny" and "stupid dyke" underneath the passing period chatter. It was his old bedroom, pressing wet washcloths against Drew's busted face, hating himself. It was the family dining room, with his head in his hands while his mother grilled him about a phone call from the principal. It was the car on the way to the hospital after the Last Big Fight.

Adam swallowed thickly.

"Thank you," the words were like gravel in his mouth. The shame, the helplessness, the rage; they coiled together in the pit of his stomach like snakes and writhed and hissed and made him sick.

Fitz smiled. "You're welcome."

He slammed his shoulder into Adam's violently as he walked past, almost knocking him over. He pressed his palm on the top of Adam's head, against his beanie and rubbed down roughly.

"Pretty fuckin' rude, y'know?" he grinned, tone light. As if he was joking. As if they were friends.

"Yeah," Adam heard the words dripping from his mouth but felt no connection to them. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Fitz called over his shoulder. "I'm a forgiving dude."

And he walked out the door, leaving Adam with crumpled science homework and a bellyful of snakes.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X

Adam's head hurt.

"-looks like he's trying to stick _me_ with the third quarter report! So, I-"

He wanted to be in his bedroom, with the door locked and the lights off, and something angsty and too loud in the background.

"-way behind on my filing anyway. Yeah. So, now, on top of that Jones wants me to-"

He wanted Drew to stop looking at him that way. Cautious glances cast from the other side of the table; like there's something he really wants to say, but isn't sure how to. He wanted Drew to not be so damn good at telling when he's feeling like shit.

"-like I have enough time for that? Not for what they're paying me. I _swear_-"

He wanted his dad to shut the hell up.

Adam sighed heavily, ran a hand down his face and pushed his plate away from him. He could feel the dull ache of hunger settling low in his gut, but couldn't bring himself to eat anything. He was so tired. He was so sick of everything.

"'m going to my room," he mumbled, picking up his plate and walking it toward the sink.

"Just a minute, young l-" his mother paused.

Adam froze, eyes shut tight, face drawn in a wince. _God_.

"Just a minute, Adam," his mother tried again, voice softer.

He stood where he was, plate still in hand, back still toward them.

"Yes?" he spoke between clenched teeth.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded, voice growing bolder. "You hardly touched your food."

_Well, maybe if it didn't taste like shit_.

The meanness of his own thoughts shocked him. He bit his tongue, frowning deeply. He'd actually almost said that. To his _mom_.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

"_Adam_," she spoke again, voice clipped.

_Dammit_. He was pissing her off.

"Yeah, mom?" he turned around.

"What happened?" she asked plainly.

_Fuck_, he thought. _Fuck fuck fuck._

_Blood in the water_.

"What happened where?" it was futile, but he had to try. His best befuddled voice was fairly convincing this time. He hoped she bought it.

"What happened today?" her voice was sharper this time. "What's got you so upset?"

"Nothing," he snapped. "I'm not upset. Just not feeling well. I'm tired. Can I go to my room now?"

"Don't give me that, Adam," she bit. "You're my... son. I know you better than you know yourself, do you really think you can lie to my face like that?"

_I know you better than you know yourself._

He wanted to laugh. If the that was true, then she wouldn't sound so damn _pained _when she called him her son.

"I'm not lying to you," he said, voice flat. "I'm fine."

"Adam-"

"I'm _fine-"  
_

"Look, if something happened at school, you have to tell me because-"

"I said I'm fine!" he yelled. "I said I was _fine_ and I _am _ and maybe if you'd just-" _fucking_, his brain filled in, but it felt _wrong _cursing at his mother so he bit his tongue. "If you'd just leave me _alone _for once maybe-"

"Leave you alone?" she hissed. "God, you _can't_ be left alone. We _left you alone_ last time and look what happened."

He heard Drew gasp at the table and shoot him a look.

_Did she really just say that?_

He walked to the sink and dropped his plate in, wincing at the clatter of silverware.

He couldn't help but look at his family as he passed by the table. His father looked annoyed. Drew looked nervous – torn between the urge to show solidarity with Adam and his own fear of incurring their mother's wrath.

His mother's face was an unreadable mask.

"Where do you think you're going?" her voice was cold, measured. "This conversation is not over, Adam."

He rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Whatever," he grumbled and regretted it the moment it escaped his lips.

He heard her get up from the table and follow him into the living room.

_Crap_.

"Don't you 'whatever' _me_, young la-" she caught herself again.

Barely.

"I'm going to my room," he asserted.

"I never thought," she began, "I never even _imagined_ that the day would come when _my own children _would speak to me like-"

He stopped at the top of the stairs. This part was the worst. He and his mother had gotten into plenty of fights over the past year. The fight over his first girlfriend. The fight over his clothes. The fight over his grades slipping.

The fight over Adam.

The particular fight they were having right now was deemed the fight over his "attitude."

But they both know that it's just another part of the fight over Adam.

_Mom. Please. I don't want to do this. I don't want to fight. I hate how we always fight. You don't know even _half_ of the shit I have to put up with at school and how much it sucks. And when I get home I just want to relax and deal with my own shit – not have you hassling me all the damn time..._

He didn't say that, though. He couldn't make the words come.

He just walked to his room, locked the door, and turned the volume on his stereo up as loud as he thought he could get away with.

He laid on his back with the lights out, timing his breath and staring at the ceiling.

He thought about Fitz. About his mom. About last year and how blindingly white hospital sheets are.

He thought about the scars under his sleeves and how badly they itch when he felt like this.

Not crying was the hardest part.

There was probably nothing in the world he hated more than crying.

It always left him feeling stupid and weak and so fucking _girly_.

Girls cry.

Boys don't.

That was _the rule_.

The tears in his eyes mocked him. The ache of the bandages around his chest mocked him. The smoothness of his arms and legs mocked him. His mother's voice echoing in his head mocked him.

The lighter on his nightstand mocked him.

He opened the top drawer and dropped it in, covering it with papers and CDs and other miscellaneous junk.

Gracie burned herself, but Adam didn't have to.

Adam was stronger.

He pushed the tips of his fingers against his eyes restlessly and rubbed away the moisture.

Sure. He was stronger than Gracie ever was.

He just wished he wasn't the butt of the fucking joke all the time.

* * *

**AN:** Feedback is greatly appreciated - constructive criticism in particular. I've got a couple chapters of this already written. The next installment will see posting in about a week's time, or whenever I hit 12 reviews.

Thanks for reading.

-Orange


	2. Ch2 part one: Kick, Push

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** Hello, Internets. Happy 2011. I brought you some fic.

Thanks for the kind reviews and encouragement. Y'all managed to give me 13 of them, therefore surpassing my pathetic "12 reviews, plz" quota. Nice one. So, here is, as promised, part of chapter 2. I know, I know - I hate splitting up chapters, too. It feels... wrong. But, Chapter Two is 25 freakin' pages, guys. 25 PAGES. So, yeah. Here's the first part.

Once again, my betas **drevil99** and **TwistedRaver** knocked this one out of the park. They're the best.

**Warnings:** drugs, alcohol, self-harm, physical and sexual abuse, foul language, frank discussions of sex and gender, and general ungentlemanly behavior. I WILL fuck with your OTP. Be prepared.

**YOU SHOULD PROBABLY READ THIS ONE: **So, remember, how in the summary it says "Semi AU"? This is what I meant. **THIS DOES NOT TAKE PLACE IN CANON**. Some major plot-points are lifted from what we've seen on the show, but the majority of the circumstances surrounding Adam/the Rest of the World are entirely AU. Entirely different backstory, certain character things are tweaked and/or fabricated to suit my purposes. My interpretation of Eli draws heavily on the EPIC ONE-SHOT YOU SHOULD GO READ RIGHT NOW, **Oddity** by **Peaches Naughty Cream**. It gave me a nice starting point, since at the beginning I had no idea how to write Eli. I think I was going to write more things here but I forgot.

Okay, you can read the fic now.

* * *

Mornings were always the hardest for Adam.

Aside from the obvious reasons (it seemed no matter how early he went to sleep, he was never quite ready to wake up) it was hard because it was nearly always the time of day when he felt most attacked by his own body.

Every time he heard the god awful wail of his alarm clock it felt like a call to battle. When he swung his legs off the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor of his bedroom he was preparing himself for a full-on assault.

Adam was not okay with his body.

Some days were worse than others, of course; and some days were better. He had moments where he felt like he could almost live with it. Like maybe God hadn't played some awful joke and maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Like maybe the journey was even more important than the destination and maybe _all _of this shit had a reason and _maybe_ he'd end up a better man for all the hardship.

And sometimes he could barely stand the sight of himself in the mirror.

Mornings were the worst because he had to confront himself. The "Man Ritual" (Drew's term; not his) had to be completed each day.

He stood in front of the mirror, fresh from the shower, skin scrubbed bright pink, eyes hot and glassy.

His... breasts were atrocious. He stood in front of the mirror, naked and wet and shaking. He felt _hideous. _Some kind of _freak._ Some kind of _monster._

The wideness of his hips, the smooth hairless expanse of his arms and legs. The horrible _softness_ of himself.

He wanted to get back under the hot cleansing stream of the shower. He wanted to scrub his skin off. To scour away the flesh from the bone and emerge – a clean, shining skeleton. To have his body grow back, a phoenix over his bones; stronger and _right_. He wanted to tear off bright red chunks of himself. To be _rid_ of the fucking _tumors_ on his chest once and for all. To reject the poison of himself. To be rebuilt with all the right parts, with his body in working order, to be able to look in the mirror and see the man that he felt like.

Instead he swung open the medicine cabinet, turning his reflection away from him.

He dressed himself in boxers and a tanktop. He slid a baggy pair of Drew's old jeans over his legs and cinched his belt tight at his waist.

He puts the tanktop on first because it's easier than binding over his bare chest.

It took a long time for him to learn to do it on his own without hurting himself. Once, he put the bandages on too tight, left them on too long and bruised his ribs badly. For a while after that, Drew had helped him bind, to make sure that he stayed safe.

Drew was kind of amazing, sometimes.

He knew that bandages were stupid. That doing it that way was dangerous and he was risking pretty serious injury but it wasn't exactly like he was swimming in _options._

His mother could barely stand to look him in the eye and call him his _name_, he didn't even want to _imagine_ the shit-fit she would throw if he were to ask for her help buying a proper binder.

Binding wasn't fun. It was _not_ his favorite...

It was _un-fucking-comfortable_.

And it could be dangerous.

He's seen the videos on youtube. He's read the warnings. He knew that even with an actual binder he was risking injury by wearing it too long; he knew that by using bandages instead he was pretty much courting injury. He knew about bruising (first hand) and he knew about fluid build up (internet horror stories).

He pinned the bandage down and re-opened the mirror to judge the job he'd done.

The flatness of his chest was a sort of salve to his wounded body image. It wasn't perfect. _God_, no it wasn't. But it was better. It was the best he could do.

He slipped a white t-shirt on over the tank to hide his bandages and trotted back to his room.

_Layers_.

He watched a lot of passing videos from guys on the internet and _layers_ was a suggestion that came up time and time again.

He slipped a flannel button-up on over his t-shirt. It was a size big; he'd gotten it at the thrift store. He liked to wear most of his clothing big.

Well, he didn't _like_ it, exactly, but it was necessary.

In truth, he envied his brother. Drew had a good body. A _male_ body. He wore tight tees that showed off his physique and he had confidence and he was _strong_ and good at sports and his voice was so _deep_.

And Adam wore _layers_ and baggy everything and tried not to talk too much to anyone because the less they noticed you, the less they'd care.

And if no one cared they wouldn't pay attention and as long as they didn't pay attention he could be stealth.

Part of him was sort of amazed at how well he'd been passing at Degrassi. He was proud, but it was a frustrating sort of pride. He couldn't really brag about it to anyone.

Being stealth was... strange. Good. Kind of frustrating.

At his old school he'd never had the option of flying under the radar. He went home for break as Gracie and came back as Adam. Not to mention most of the kids in his high school were people he'd known since he was little.

He shook his head and smoothed his hair in front of the mirror. Thoughts about his old school usually followed a pretty dark path and he tried to avoid going there. It would be especially shitty to have a fucking panic attack before school. He thought of the pills in the back of his sock drawer and rolled his eyes. His psychiatrist had prescribed them to him after the Last Big Fight. To help him _feel better_, she'd said. To cope. He thought it was ironic and fucked up and _just like his whole fucking life_ that the only thing they did was made him feel like shit. He never took them and about a month after he got them his mom got off his case and he didn't even have to bother faking it.

_Christ, there I go again_.

He ran hand over his face, as if to physically wipe away the sudden wave of bitterness he felt.

He grabbed his beanie and his backpack and walked back to the bathroom to give himself a final once-over. Satisfied (well, about as satisfied as he could get with the looming specter of dysphoria hanging over his head) with his appearance he crept down the stairs.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly 5:30. He was cutting it pretty close, his mother would be up in about fifteen minutes and the only reason he'd gotten up at this ungodly hour was to slip out of the house without having to deal with anyone. He'd been feeling restless and sick with anxiety for the better part of a week – ever since his confrontation with Fitz after school and the ensuing fight with his mother. They'd been walking on eggshells around each other since the argument. She'd made a few concessions; his favorite meal one night, a considerably gentle homework lecture another. He was cautious to accept the subtle white flag she'd been waving, though. He knew he was one wrong move away from having her back on his ass. Worse yet, he was certain that she would bring up his behavior during their last row the next time they clashed.

Fitz hadn't been too much trouble. He still gave Adam static in the halls but didn't seem to be pushing things too much. Adam was incredibly relieved. The thought of having Fitz _really_ going after him made him want to vomit. If Fitz hated Adam this much _now_ and he didn't know anything about him, how bad would it be if he found out Adam was _trans_?

Adam slipped into the garage as quietly as he could and grabbed his skateboard, allowing a brief feeling of relief to wash over him. He needed this. A lot. He hadn't really skated much since moving to Toronto and even now just holding his board in his hands in the dark, feeling the familiar scratchy griptape against his fingertips, he felt his body relaxing.

On his way out he jotted a quick note to his mom and left it on the refrigerator.

_Wanted to get to school early. Head-start on a project for MI. See you later._

_Love,_

_-Adam_

He set off in the general direction of Degrassi at a leisurely pace. The park where he planned to skate wasn't too far from the school. It was still dark out and he hoped that meant he could get in some alone-time with his board before the early joggers showed up and broke his peace.

He felt the delicious resistance of the ground when he kicked off, he felt the jarring drop of each curb, the wobble of his board on the asphalt, the chill of the cold morning air through his hoodie and on his face. He felt the friction of it all.

He felt alive.

The wonderful continuous scrape of his wheels against the pavement made his heart beat faster.

The park was empty, just as he'd hoped. He glanced longingly at the coffee shop across the street, but decided against going in just yet, eager to begin exploring the park he'd so often passed on his way to school. The whole of the park was massive; one corner had a playground for families, there was a small pond for ducks at the other end, there was a fountain and paths for joggers and the grassy green in-betweens were dotted with trees and charcoal grills for picnicking families. He bipassed all of these attractions, instead seeking out the small skatepark set-up at the north end of the park.

It wasn't much to look at; a couple wide concrete stairs, some rails, a quarter pipe, and some shallow ramps. About everything you could expect from the kind of half-assed skateparks cities would build in the hopes of keeping skaters out of parking lots and shopping centers. Still, his heart thumped a bit harder in his chest and there was an ache in his throat when he thought about how much he _missed _this. He kicked off, riding up the transition on the quarter-pipe. It was small, only about 4 feet, he knew he wouldn't be able to do too much at this park, but he was always more comfortable with street than vert so he supposed it didn't matter.

Familiarizing himself with the shallow dips and sharp edges of the concrete he felt his body relax. Skateboarding was like therapy, only more relaxing and with less bullshit. Here on his board, with the sun just beginning to peak up from behind the clouds and the cold wind nipping his cheeks and nose he allowed himself to loosen up. The board was just an extension of his body and he was surprised at how easily the feeling of oneness came back to him. He'd been skateboarding since he was about 11 and felt like he had a lot to show for the four years of experience he'd gained.

Although he hadn't competed since transition he had once been starting to make a name for himself in the local amateur circuit in St. Catherines. Nothing too big, but he got a write-up in a local paper when he took 3rd in his first skate competition when he was 13. Mostly he competed for fun, but the winning was nice; his three meager trophies were positively dwarfed on the mantle next to Drew's copious sports awards but they were _there_ nontheless.

He sped up and ollied, attempting to land a grind on a low rail across from the stairs. He lost control of the board and bailed, frowning pensively as the board skittered out from under his feet and slid to a stop at the base of the quarter pipe. He retrieved it and hopped back on determined to try it again.

A couple trips up the quarterpipe and a few ollies later he felt comfortable enough to take the rail again. He slowed his breathing and kicked off skated up along the rail.

_C'mon, Adam, six months ago you could do this in your sleep._

He slid his rear foot over the tail, his front over the bolts, and propelled himself into an ollie. He embraced the brief moment of weightlessness (and _God, _how could he have gone this long _without it?_) and the surprisingly smooth impact of his trucks on the rail, and the controlled slide to lock his rear wheels against the metal; the precarious slide down the rail until he kicked off at the end and landed (albeit a bit sketchily) and rolled down the slope toward the sidewalk.

"_God,_" he found himself laughing, the adrenaline spike causing a grin to split his face.

He'd done far more impressive tricks in the past. By his old standards that short grind off a low rail was child's play, but _Christ_, the wholeness it brought him. The old, simple, familiar joy of being back on the board, of pulling off a trick (no matter how simple) it brought a wave of pleasant memories back to him.

He remembered practicing on his front lawn every day after school until he _perfected_ ollying. His utter satisfaction at landing his first kickflip. The stomach-turning mixture of thrill and nervousness that filled his whole body on the day of his first competition.

Skating was the only thing he'd ever felt truly _good_ at – at the very least, the only thing he'd ever felt any recognition for. His parents had bought both him and Drew boards one Christmas after endless begging on their parts. He was nine and Drew was 10. Drew gave up on skating after about a week. Adam was proud to say that he lasted a whole month before calling it quits.

Things had changed when his next-door neighbor and former babysitter, Lisa Meyer, got a new boyfriend. Bryce Arnold had literally shaped his whole life.

Two years had passed since his first, brief, attempt at skateboarding. It was the summer before his last year of primary school. The first time he ever saw Bryce he was doing heelflips off a plywood ramp he'd built outside of Lisa's house.

He was tall. He had a cool, shaggy haircut. His shirt had swear words on it.

Adam (then Gracie) felt a tug in his chest immediately. He wanted to be tall. He wanted a cool, shaggy haircut. He wanted a shirt with swear words on it.

He wanted to skate.

After week and a half of shyly staring at Bryce from the swing in his front yard, Lisa had noticed. She introduced them. It took him nearly a week to work up the courage to ask Bryce for skateboard lessons but the older boy agreed with a startling eagerness that Adam now attributed to a mixture of flattery and wanting to score points with Lisa.

Within a matter of days Bryce graduated from impossibly cool older kid to a big-brother-like figure; and although Bryce and Adam's odd friendship ended when he and Lisa broke up at the end of that summer he'd managed to shape Adam's entire life in irreversible ways.

Bryce taught Adam to skate. Bryce made him mix CDs of AFI and Senses Fail and Dead Hand. Bryce was his first crush.

Even though years had passed, Adam still wasn't sure if he'd wanted to _kiss_ Bryce or _be_ him. The crush had been rather innocent – he was, afterall, still a pre-teen, not yet capable of any serious romantic or sexual urges. But it was an important first step, nonetheless.

Adam sighed wistfully before riding up to grind on the rail a second time. Remembering Bryce always put him in a weird mood – a good mood, though. He sometimes wondered where the older boy was. He always wondered just what Bryce would think of the man that the little girl he'd mentored that summer had become. But, the truth was, he'd held back any attempts to contact his old idol for fear of that exact answer.

Adam wasn't a fool. He knew that memory was infinitely better than any reality ever could be.

He popped a quick kickflip, off a short set of stairs. The landing was kind of sketchy, but he could already feel his body re-adjusting to the board.

He supposed it didn't really matter what Bryce would think of him now.

I _don't really hate myself anymore_, he mused. _I guess that's going to have to be good enough._

He took the next set of stairs badly, the board rolled out from under him and he fell to the ground. The skin on his hand scraped; it stung, the skin pale white with flecks of red appearing on the surface. He sighed and lifted himself back up, relishing the ache in his knees and palms. He brushed the dirt off his pants and stepped back onto the board.

Adam exhaled heavily and watched the steam rise from his mouth. He rode back up to the top of the stairs sore.

Determined.

Content

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

He left the park just before 7:00 – the peace he sought there long since broken by joggers and dog walkers. He got a bagel and a coffee at the cafe across the street. The girl behind the counter had long bangs and an eyebrow piercing and she winked at him when he dropped his last two dollars in the tip jar.

By the time he reached the steps of Degrassi it was about 7:20 – plenty of time to kill before class started. Fingers numb, belly full, he skated to the front steps of the school, settling on the wide concrete stairs to relax for a while.

He stretched his body over several steps, laying his head back, using his backpack as a pillow. He fished his mp3 player out of the pocket of his hoodie and slipped the earbuds in place. Eyes closed, he brought the skateboard up to his chest and rested it there, tape down.

He made his way through two songs before a light pressure on his foot made his eyes shoot open.

"Clare?" he asked, sitting up and pulling his earbuds out.

She smiled.

He bit his lip.

"Hi, Adam," she greeted warmly. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, just..." he trailed off, situating the skateboard under his feet so he could slide it sideways on the stairs. "You know."

She nodded and he tried to feel like less of an idiot.

"So..."

She was staring at him expectantly.

"Could I, um, could I sit down or something...?"

Oh.

"Oh. Yeah, I mean... totally," Being in this close proximity to Clare usually left Adam wanting to slam his face into nearby solid objects.

She leaned down and brushed the steps off before seating herself next to him. Close enough for him to smell her (what the Hell _was _ that anyway? Peaches? Some kind of flower?) but just far enough apart so that they weren't touching.

"You're not usually here this early," she noted, playing with the straps of her bookbag.

"Oh," he cleared his throat, cheeks still bright red. "Yeah. I left kind of early today. Sometimes you just... have to get out."

She nodded slowly, something in her eyes sad and too familiar as she gazed off across the parking lot.

"Yeah," she agreed, absently.

The uneven tone of her voice made his heart seize up in his chest. He breathed out slowly through his nose. He wanted to hold her hands, he wanted to brush the hair back from her face, he wanted to press his ear against her chest and listen to her breathe and take her away from whatever made her voice quiver like that.

"So," her voice was so _bright_ so different than what it had been a moment ago that it startled him. He jumped and re-committed his focus to her. "You skateboard, then?"

"Uh," he swallowed, rolling the board back and forth thoughtfully with his ankles. "Yeah. I guess."

_I guess?_

God, he needed to learn to not sound like a complete fucking _idiot_ around her.

Clare once more seemed mercifully oblivious to Adam's utter horror at his loss of mental faculties.

He was grateful.

"That's really cool," she sounded genuine but she still wasn't looking out him, her gaze fixed on the parking lot.

_Probably looking for Eli_, Adam thought darkly. Not that he could blame her. It would be ridiculous to think that a guy like _Adam _could compete with a guy like _Eli_ for Clare's interest. Hell, he could barely hold her attention.

"I always wished I could do something like that, you know," she continued.

"Like what?" he asked cautiously, half convinced she wasn't even listening to him.

"Like skateboarding. Or... playing guitar. Or getting a tattoo..."

"Getting a tattoo isn't really... a skill or anything..." he pointed out, kicking himself even as the words slipped past his lips.

"Oh, I know," she smiled sheepishly. "I just meant... doing things that are cool."

"Well, what's stopping you?" he was genuinely curious at this point.

"Oh, my parents never would have let me do anything dangerous like that. I mean, my dad taught me how to ride a bike and took me and my sister skiing when we were kids but skateboards are... different, somehow. And they had me take violin lessons when I was a kid but I hated them and they hated hearing me practice, so I got to quit – doubt they'd be okay with any other instrument since I quit the fist time. And don't even get me _started _on what they'd do if I ever got a tattoo..."

"Sounds harsh," he says because he can't think of anything else. His parents weren't... the most lax. And they certainly weren't, exactly, the most supportive (of _him _anyway). But he couldn't imagine them ever trying to keep him from doing the things he loved. They bought him his first skateboard. They drove him to competitions. They paid for his bass lessons. And even though they strictly forbid him, when he came home with that incredibly ill-thought-out lip piercing, they only freaked out for a week – they didn't even make fun of him when it got infected and had to be removed.

"I guess it does," she agrees. "But, I mean, it's not like they're awful. They, um, they let me take a creative writing class over the summer. That was really great."

"Oh, you're a writer?" He knew she was really good at English – they were the only grade 10s in the advanced class they shared with Eli – but he didn't know she was serious about it outside of school.

"Yeah," she beamed. "Sometimes I write for the school paper. I do lots of... of poetry and just, short stories. I wrote my first play last year and the drama club even put it on!"

"Wow," he smiled, impressed. "That's pretty awesome."

"Yeah, it was really cool," she breathed. "Well, not as cool as skateboarding, maybe."

She bumped her shoulder against his playfully and he hoped she didn't notice the way his breath caught in his throat.

"Maybe," his voice sounded weird in his ears.

She smiled widely and they settled into comfortable silence.

More and more kids were arriving. Adam held off glancing at his watch but he knew school was bound to start soon. Part of him wanted to get up and hurry to his locker, there was a bit of history homework he hadn't quite finished last night and he'd hoped to get it done today. But he didn't want this... _moment_ with Clare to be over.

"Guess we'd better head in," Clare noted casually.

Adam rushed to his feet, and held his hand out to help her up. She smiled demurely and gripped her hand in his. "Thanks," she murmured, turning to gather her book bag.

"I could teach you, you know," he blurted.

"What?" she turned back to him, bewildered.

"T-to skateboard," he elaborated, biting his lip nervously and glancing around. "I mean, if you wanted."

Her brows furrowed. "Oh. I don't know, I mean... really?"

He shrugged, feeling anxious and exposed.

_Idiot. Fucking _idiot_. What the fuck are you doing?_

"Yeah," he swallowed, running this thumb nervously under the straps of his backpack.

"I was just talking, really," she explained awkwardly. "I don't think I'd really be any good at it. I'd probably make a fool out of myself and get hurt-"

"I'd never let you get _hurt_, Clare," he said seriously, straightening his shoulders.

She looked at him, a bit surprised by the naked earnestness of his words.

"I... look," he continued awkwardly, feeling his confidence falter. He picked his skateboard up from the ground and gently stepped around her. "It's fun. Are... are you _completely opposed _to fun?"

She giggled, visibly relaxing. "No, I guess not."

He felt some of the tension leave his body, and his breath came easier.

"Are you completely opposed to hanging out with me a every now and then after school?" he continued.

_Oh my god, you incredible moron – what are you doing?_

"No."

"Okay, then," he smirked, allowing himself a brief moment of victory, "tomorrow after school we'll head to The Dot and then I'll give you your first lesson. Sound good?"

She hesitated a moment before smiling brightly. "Sure. Thanks, Adam."

He beamed back, feeling a warm burst of pride rising up his chest.

"Eli's going to _flip_ when he hears," Clare continued, voice excited. "He always complains I'm not _bold_ enough..."

The warmth in his chest was promptly extinguished.

_Of course._

_Of _course_ she's not doing this to spend time with you._

_Of _course_ she's doing this for _Eli.

He sighed, trying to will the ugly feeling of jealousy out of his heart.

"Yeah," Adam mumbled. "He'll _flip_."

The bell rang.

He walked to class alone.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, you guys did a great job last time. Think we can keep up the awesome reviews? I'll post the second part of chapter 2 um... whenever I make some progress on chapter 4. I like to keep a bit ahead of the story.

Thanks for reading.

-Orange


	3. Ch2 part two: The Bird and the Worm

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN: **Words go here. I don't really know which ones I wanted to say anymore. Eh.

Thanks again to my betas **drevil99 **and **TwistedRaver**. They're good people.

So, here's the second (and final) part of chapter 2.

* * *

_Recreation_, he thought bitterly. _Oh, how I loathe you_.

Granted, the logical part of him knew that the undiluted _awfulness_ of Recreation was still a thousand times better than the logistical nightmare of dressing out for regular Phys. Ed, but _still._

"Okay," began their teacher, clapping his hands for their attention. "You guys know the drill. Darts again today, we pick up where we left off tomorrow! Move to your groups! Go!"

Adam sighed, tossing his backpack on the growing pile near the door and trudging reluctantly over to the corner where his group gathered.

At the beginning of the Darts unit, his teacher had split the class into five groups at random.

"Hey," Adam mumbled, twisting his hoodie nervously. The greeting was a polite gesture, he knew, but a futile one. The kids in Rec were usually either incapable of normal social interaction or flat out _unwilling_.

Wendy Shoemaker looked over at him shyly. She was in grade 10, like him. Her long, mousy brown hair was tied back in a long braid. She came to school every day in the same black hoodie and never seemed to speak to anyone but teachers.

He smiled gently at her, hoping for once that someone would acknowledge his presence.

She turned her face from him quickly, pushing her glasses up her nose and walking to the center of the room – presumably to collect darts.

He sighed disappointed and turned to assess the rest of the group.

Nick Barnum was there; absorbed in the mp3 player he'd managed to sneak in(Adam was fairly sure that it was less skill and more the fact that their teacher didn't seem to give a shit). He was a freakishly tall grade 9 student that only seemed to wear an assortment of band shirts and one pair of tattered jeans. The only time he'd spoken to Adam in the entire time they'd known each other was the time he laughed when Adam got beaned in the back of the head by Clarence Dewey during dodgeball (laughter was _like_ speaking, right?)

_Speaking of Clarence..._

The lunkheaded idiot was nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, Adam scanned the room again but was happily met with the same conclusion.

Clarence Dewey was a real son of a bitch. Some grade 12 burnout who, apparently, had nothing better to do during class than rip on Adam. He'd made it very clear from the first day that there was something about Adam that _offended_ him. Something about Adam that he _hated_.

Adam was no stranger to the scorn of others, but the kind of hate Clarence Dewey held for him was unfamiliar. It stung in an entirely different way. He picked at him mercilessly in class, but didn't even glance twice at him in the halls.

Adam had asked once – demanded to know, really – in a fit of stupidity and hurt feelings why, _why _did he restrict his torment to one class period of the day.

Clarence Dewey's response had been simple.

Brutal.

_You're just _not_ fucking worth any more of my time, Torres_.

The memory left a bad taste in his mouth. He shivered and tried to stuff it down in that steel-coated part of his gut where the volatile emotional cocktail of shame and fury was left to ferment.

"Anyone seen Clarence?" he asked, hating the anxious timbre of his own voice.

Bianca De Sousa glared up at him from her perch atop an empty AV cart. She pursed her lips, as if she'd tasted something sour and unpleasant before rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to filing her long, red nails.

Adam shrank back a bit, and leaned into the wall behind him. He let his head tip down to the ground and counted to 12 before sneaking a long glance at Bianca through his bangs.

She was wearing impossibly tight jeans and a low cut blouse. Her coffee-colored eyes were bored as she tried to distract herself through class. Most of the time she sat around looking pissed off and bored and refused to interact with anyone. Sometimes she laughed at Clarence's jokes or gossiped with a girl in another group.

Adam remembered the first time he saw her.

The first thing he thought was _Holy Damn, that is one _mean _glare_.

The second thing was that she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in real life.

No fucking joke.

He walked up to her. His legs had been on auto-pilot and the words were on the very tip of his tongue. H opened his mouth and then-

"_Hey, special ed is across the hall, retard,_" _Clarence sneered, pushing past Adam roughly, almost knocking him off balance._

Bianca had laughed. Clarence had introduced himself. Adam slunk back to the darkest corner of the room.

And although that first bitter rejection had set the trend for the rest of their relationship, Adam couldn't quite shake the crush he'd developed on her.

Sure, she probably regarded him with the same amount of affection she reserved for the gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Sure, she hadn't spared him a single kind word, well, _ever_. Sure, there was that rumor that she'd given Clarence Dewey a handjob in the boiler room. Sure, she was known to hang out with Fitz and Owen.

Sure, he was a _complete and total idiot_ for even bothering to _try_ to have a conversation with her any longer.

But sometimes...

Sometimes when it was quiet, when Clarence wasn't buzzing in her ear, and when she felt like no one was looking at her she'd... drift off.

There would be this _look_ in her eye.

_This look_ that said that maybe she was like him.

Broken and hurt and fucking _tired of it_ and that maybe she was lonely too.

And maybe all she needed was _someone_.

To talk to. Or to listen to her. Or to just _be there_.

And Adam thought about her sometimes and thought about how much he wanted to be _someone_ for her and that's why he held on.

It was completely idiotic. But _that_ was why he bothered with the lame attempts at conversations, even though she brutally tore him down every time.

Wendy returned with the darts. She set them wordlessly on the ground and hung up the dartboard, walking into the proper place to begin the activity. For several minutes she was the only one playing before Adam, wary of attracting the teacher's attention (he usually didn't care who was doing _what_ – seeming to have almost less enthusiasm for the sport than most of his students) moved forward to join her.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class Adam waited against the wall until the classroom was mostly empty. When he moved forward to collect his bag something caught his eye.

Resting forgotten under one wheel of the AV cart lay a notebook. Adam knelt down and picked it up, flipping the front cover open.

_Bianca De Sousa_

_Perrino_

_Per. 5_

He glanced at it cautiously, finding it full of notes (and not a few vulgar doodles) apparently taken in Mr. Perrino's fifth period class.

Perrino was a notorious hard-ass, he probably wouldn't take kindly to a student missing their notes. Adam felt his breath catch in his throat a bit. He shoved the notebook into his backpack and hurried out of the room.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

Adam had always considered himself a righteous dude. Polite. Thoughtful. _Decent_.

So when the lunch bell rang and he set about navigating the crowded halls of Degrassi he knew what he had to do.

_Oh _Christ.

His stomach was twisting itself into knots. His palms were sweating.

The tattered red notebook in his backpack felt like a two ton weight.

He bypassed his locker completely, heading resolutely for the cafeteria.

_Oh wait. Oh shit._ _Slow down. THINK._

He slipped out of the stream of hungry teens filtering into the Caf and paced against the wall by the bathrooms.

_Deep breaths, Adam._

_For the love of _God_ get a hold of yourself you fucking _pussy.

He clenched his hands at his sides and let out slow even breaths through his nose.

Fitz, Owen, Bianca and a couple others ate lunch in the Caf every day. He knew, because their table was tragically close to the salad bar and Adam usually had to endure some taunt or another if he decided he wanted fresh(ish) fruit with whatever slop the lunchworkers deemed edible.

He needed a plan of attack.

He decided to wait a couple minutes. If Fitz and Owen were already eating there was the chance that they'd be distracted enough for him to drop the notebook off without attracting their attention. Alternatively, if they already had their food they could _throw it at him_ – but so far, they'd kept to more low-key (or at least less public) attacks so it wasn't too significant a risk.

He had to approach it the right way. He couldn't just run up, throw the notebook on the table and run away (no matter how badly he wanted to). That might be interpreted wrong. Maybe Bianca would think he stole it or something. That would be a disaster of epic proportions. He had to make it clear that he was pulling a good Samaritan and hope that she'd be grateful – or at least merciful.

Okay. He would go in. Casually approach the table (don't let them see you're scared, don't give them an opening), let Bianca know that he found the notebook in class after she left and just wanted to make sure she got it back, and walk away shortly thereafter (ignore any instance of teasing or threats).

_You got this, Torres._

He shook his shoulders out and stepped into the cafeteria.

_You got this._

He took a quick glance around the room when he walked in.

Connor, Dave, and Wes were at the usual table. Nothing special.

Drew was sitting with the rest of the football team, very obviously trying to see down some girl's shirt.

A couple kids he recognized from different classes were all about where they should be. Clare and Eli were nowhere to be seen – probably already at their table outside, waiting for him.

_Okay. Cool. Not interference. Get in, get out_.

His eyes swept over to Bianca's table. She was there – as were Fitz and Owen.

He swallowed.

_Right. Let's do this, then._

"Hey," he called as he approached.

All three of them looked up. Owen looked confused. Fitz irritated. Bianca bored.

"You, uh, youleftthisinclasstoday," the words stumbled out of his mouth, sliding on top of each other and spilling clumsily into the air. He reached into his backpack and grabbed the notebook, shoving it uneasily in Bianca's direction.

Fitz leaned across the table before anyone could react and snatched it from his hands.

"Fuck, Bee, he's got your notes," Fitz observed, leaning back and flipping through the pages casually. "What's up, skidmark, you stalking her or something?"

"What? N-no," Adam protested weakly, cursing himself even as the words left his mouth.

_You broke the fuckin' rule. What happened to "don't respond to taunts?"_

"Aw, dude, I bet he, like, jerked off on it or something," Owen chimed in.

"Ew," Fitz laughed, dropping the notebook as if it burned him. "Haha, watch out, Bee. If any of the pages stick together you better fuckin' _burn_ the thing."

"Oh, _oh Bianca,_" Owen moaned, pantomiming masturbation vigorously. "_Uhn_."

Adam ground his teeth together, fists clenching at his sides. He glanced at Bianca from the corner of his eye but she was just staring at him blankly.

"Fuck it," he scowled, letting his temper catch up to him. "Whatever."

He turned to leave before a painful grip on his elbow stopped him.

"Where the fuck do _you_ think you're going?" Fitz's tone was quiet and even but his words resonated in Adam's skull as clearly as if he'd screamed them.

Bianca was still staring at him.

He hated this. He hated looking like an idiot in front of her. He was just trying to _do something nice_ and, dammit, this shit _always happened_.

"I asked you a question," Fitz's voice was louder this time. His grip tightened.

Adam closed his eyes.

"I gotta... I gotta get to my friends," Adam spoke, voice softer than he'd intended.

Fitz laughed. "You expect us to believe you have _friends?_"

Adam felt his face go red, from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. He felt Bianca's eyes burning into him.

"C'mon, man," he hated the pleading note in his voice.

Fitz smiled widely. "Sit down," his tone was friendly, but his intent was anything but.

"I..." Adam began, but then Fitz yanked his elbow _hard_ and Adam felt himself losing his balance until his palms were flat on the table. He looked over at Fitz, saw that awful vengeful look in his eyes, and sank down onto the bench.

"That's better," Fitz proclaimed. "You hungry Adam?"

Adam shook his head wordlessly, eyes trained to the table in front of him.

"Aw, c'mon," Fitz goaded. "You must be hungry."

Adam didn't reply, praying for death or the end of lunch.

_Whichever comes quicker, _he thought darkly.

Suddenly a tray was slid into his line of vision.

"Eat up," came Fitz's voice. Low and hard.

The tray was an awful pile of mush. Jello and broccoli and chocolate milk and whatever was left of the Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes that had been served as lunch today. It was mixed together in the center of the tray – a pinkbrownwhite smear of pure humiliation.

"Wh-what?" he asked, looking up at Fitz in shock and horror.

_Oh please. Fuck. Please no._

Owen was giggling furiously, pounding his fist into the table. Bianca looked incredulous and disgusted. Fitz was just staring at him with that awful smirk.

"Go ahead, Adam." Fitz commanded. "Eat your fucking lunch, bro."

"No," Adam shook his head, resolutely, ignoring the mounting fear in his stomach. "No way."

"I don't remember _asking_, faggot," Fitz's shouted, rising up from his seat and leaning across the table to push the tray at him again. "Fucking _dig in_, shitstain."

Adam looked up at him. He glanced back at the tray, his stomach flopping in disgust.

_Oh my god. Why am I even considering this?_

There was no good outcome. He could refuse and get his ass kicked. It would piss them off and he'd be a target.

If he did it, though, Fitz would know. He would _know_ just what he could get away with and this would never stop. He would be a target.

_It's too late_, he thought dolefully. _It's too fucking late. It's all ruined_.

He picked up the spork that was embedded in the middle of the unholy mess.

_Shitshitshit._

Frantically he looked around the Caf for help. He spotted Drew at his table. Not too far.

Drew was on the football team with Owen. He could probably – no, he could absolutely call this shit off.

_No. Nonono, you can't _do that _to him again, Adam_.

He licked his lips and shot another desperate look at Fitz.

The older boy smirked coldly, "You better clean your plate, Torres. You know what happens to bad little boys who don't clean their plates. There are kids starving in Africa right now..."

Adam threw a pleading glance at Bianca. She looked back at him, repulsion clear on her face.

He closed his eyes and breathed rapidly, counting backwards from ten.

_Ten._

_Nine._

_Eight._

"Don't tell me you have to be fuckin' _spoonfed_, Adam."

_Sevensixfivefourthreetwo..._

A deep exhale through his mouth.

_One_.

He shoved the spoonful into his mouth.

The taste was fucking_ atrocious_.

The moment the concoction hit his tongue he felt bile rising in his throat. His eyes shot open, tearing up. They put something else in here. Hot sauce? Salt, sugar – too many things.

Owen was laughing out loud, making exaggerated chewing noises, and rubbing his stomach obscenely.

Fitz was just staring with that cold, awful smirk. "Swallow it."

Adam groaned helplessly, the awful mush filling his mouth. Fitz leaned forward menacingly and Adam swallowed dutifully, flinching away from Fitz as he clapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

"Fucking disgusting," he heard Bianca mutter as she collected her notebook and stood up from the table.

Adam bolted from the cafeteria and ran out to the hallway, bracing himself on a trashcan and retching violently. He heaved once, twice, his body aching before slipping a finger to the back of his throat to help the process along. He vomited into the trashcan until his stomach was empty and the shameangerhatred had filled his lungs.

He spent the rest of the lunch period crouched low in a dark corner of the library, shaking and fingering the scar that disappeared into his hairline.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

Five minutes into the last class of the day his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Eli.

**Come meet me at The Dot.**

A week ago, Adam would have slipped his phone under his desk and text back to ask if Eli meant for Adam to meet him _after school_. As it was, Adam had spent enough time around Eli to know that the boy meant _now_ because skipping class was almost more natural than showing up for him.

It was the last class of the day. His name had already been placed on the attendance sheet and taken to the office. He had a _killer _headache and despite having chewed half a pack of gum his mouth still tasted like a garbage bin. He was already a chapter a head of class and-

_Fuck it._

His hand was in the air almost before he realized what he was doing.

"Mr. Bince?"

Bince looked up, brows furrowing.

"Yes, Adam?"

Adam swallowed, "I, uh, I'm not... feeling well. Can I have a pass to the nurse?"

"Of course," Bince assured him, looking worried.

Adam felt a twinge of guilt in his chest when Bince pressed the note into his palm, but he bit it back and slipped out of class quietly.

_C'mon. You're not the first kid to light out from school like this_.

Still, it felt sort of wrong taking advantage of Bince like that. He was a cool teacher.

Eli was waiting for him outside The Dot, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, cigarette dangling from between his lips. His eyes drifted towards Adam, locking on the younger boy's face as he took another long drag from the cigarette, shaking the ashes off onto the ground between two long fingers.

Adam's legs stopped working. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his arms dangling at his sides, his throat working to call out a greeting but finding himself empty of words.

Eli's gaze was intense. Speculative. Adam shifted uncomfortably, feeling utterly exposed for all the layers he wore.

Most of the time they spent together was easy. They talked about music, or comics, or class. Or they joked and messed around. Or they were quiet and didn't look at each other.

But sometimes it was like this; with Eli staring straight through him, looking for something that Adam wasn't sure he had. It made his head swim, and his palms itch, and his stomach twist.

Eli's mouth twisted into that slow, sideways smirk and Adam felt the air rush back into his lungs.

He jerked his head toward the door and flicked his cigarette into the gutter and Adam jogged to catch up to him.

The air inside The Dot was warm. It smelled like coffee beans and grease. It was mostly empty except for a couple college students studying near the front.

They found a booth off to the side and settled in. Adam pressed his back against the wall and stretched his legs out over the seat.

It was quiet for several long moments. Adam scanned the cafe, idly messing with the iPod in his hands until the silence between he and Eli grew uncomfortable.

He opened his mouth turning to speak.

Eli was watching him again.

Adam swallowed nervously. "Uh – where's Clare?"

Eli's brows furrowed and he scoffed. "I don't know. In class, I guess."

"Oh," Adam licked his lips and shifted in his seat.

"Why?" Eli demanded quietly, gaze unwavering.

_Christ, doesn't he _blink_?_

"I-I dunno," Adam admitted. "It's just – you know, you guys are always together, I just thought..."

Eli rolled his eyes.

Adam was incredibly grateful when the handsome blonde kid brought their food over. He slipped his hand around the mug of root beer possessively and shoved a handful of fries into his mouth immediately.

"For the love of God, man, do you even _chew_?" Eli asked sarcastically, but there was a lightness to his tone that eased the fervent thumping of Adam's heart.

They slipped into a more companionable silence as they ate. Adam felt himself relaxing and was glad he'd left school early.

"I know you," Eli's voice was quiet but it shattered the fragile peace of mind Adam had been building since the food arrived.

He froze.

_Oh my god. Oh my god _NO.

He looked up frantically but Eli once again appeared to be looking _through_ him.

Somehow it had got out. Somehow word had traveled all the way up from his old school, all the way up from St. Catherines and now _Eli knew_ and if Eli knew who else knew? Who else _would_ know?

Adam's entire body seized up. He felt his hands begin to tremble on the table and realized with rising panic that he didn't feel in control of his own body any more. His breaths were coming on quicker and his eyes itched – felt like they would explode out of his head.

_He brought me here_, Adam realized, horror splashed across his face, _he brought me here to.. to..._

_I don't know._

_Fuck._

_He's going to take me outside and he's going to beat the shit out of me. He's going to split my head open with a fucking _pipe._ He's going to knock out all my teeth. He's going to hack me to pieces and throw me in the back of his fucking hearse. He's going to-_

"I_ was_ you," Eli continued in that same quiet, serious tone.

… _What?_

Eli's gaze shifted and he locked eyes with Adam, placing his hands palm-flat against the table.

"I was everyone's favorite punching bag. I was the fucking _bitch_. I was a victim – and it was my fault as much as anyone else's because I _allowed_ myself to be the victim."

"What?" Adam heard the words – knew they must have been his own because Eli's mouth had stopped moving – but felt no connection to them.

"What happened with Fitz today," Eli continued, his voice growing stronger, harsher. "That wasn't the first time, Adam."

_What the fuck is going on?_

"I don't..." Adam shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"_Don't _act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Eli growled, slamming his fist into the table and leaning forward threateningly.

Adam's breath caught in his throat and he flinched back.

Eli's eyes softened a bit. "How long have they been fucking with you, Adam?"

Adam exhaled slowly ran a hand through his hair. "Wait. Wait. So... this has all been about Fitz and Owen giving me shit at school?"

Eli nodded slightly, his features growing increasingly annoyed.

"Seriously?" Adam laughed despite the distinct lack of humor in the situation. He felt himself growing giddy with the volatile mix of immense relief and lingering anxiety.

"What's so _fucking funny_ about it, Adam?" Eli bit, a sharpness in his voice Adam had never really heard.

His laughter ceased immediately.

"I... nothing, Eli," he scratched his neck nervously and pushed himself up from the booth, reaching into his pocket and throwing a few bills on the table. "Look, I don't really want to talk about that right now."

"And _I_ don't really want to see those fucking bastards get off on humiliating you anymore!" Eli exploded.

"Hey! Guys?" the kid at the counter called to them, looking concerned.

Adam shook his head and turned around, walking swiftly out of the cafe.

"Adam!" Eli barked out behind him.

He heard the quickening of footsteps behind him and for a brief terrible second he was right back on the floor of that alley with a mouthful of dirt and blood. He felt the muscles in his legs seize painfully as he fought back his body's natural reaction to _bolt._

Few people ever experience a true, full on life or death flight reaction.

Once you did, though, it was really damn hard to un-train yourself.

He felt a hand close around his shoulder and couldn't stop his body's reaction. He whirled around, arm flying out frantically, knocking Eli's grip loose and causing the larger boy to stumble back slightly.

"Adam...?" Eli's features registered shock, then concern.

Adam exhaled slowly through his mouth, mentally counting to ten and forcing his body to relax.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Eli frowned, biting his lip pensively and staring intently into Adam's eyes. He took a tentative step forward. "What did they _do_ to you?"

Adam was surprised to find himself blinking back tears, and turned from Eli quickly. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky and running his hands over his face.

"I think I left my skateboard in my locker," he admitted after a few long moments.

Eli blinked, taking another step forward. "Um. Do you want to go get it?"

Adam shrugged, turning back to Eli. "That's okay. I'll, uh, I'll text Drew and ask him to grab it or something."

Eli nodded.

They were silent for several minutes. A bell rang in the distance.

"Guess school's out now," Eli noted. Adam nodded mutely, chewing the inside of his cheek. "We should probably get out of here before it fills up."

Honestly, Adam didn't want to go anywhere with Eli.

He wanted to be at home, in the dark, with his head buried under his pillow.

But he found himself following Eli silently back to the hearse.

They pulled up to Eli's house, a pretty ratty looking townhouse in an okay neighborhood. Eli silently lead Adam around the side of the house and popped open a window.

"Um," Adam blinked nervously. "Sure this is your house, Elijah?" he tried to smile, but was rather positive it came out more of a grimace.

Eli sighed. "Yeah. Positive. Just get inside."

Against his better judgment he found himself scrambling through the window and hauling himself into the strange house.

"Uh," Adam mumbled, looking around. "Some room."

It was tiny and cluttered. A bed covered in books and clothes and a dresser in the corner the only discernible pieces of furniture. The floor was covered in trash and clothing. Loose papers scattered everywhere. His eyes caught the latch and rather impressive door chain dangling that apparently kept the room secure.

"Yeah," Eli said shortly, tone clipped, shutting down any possible avenue of conversation.

Adam wandered uneasily over to the bed and sat down, slipping his phone out of his pocket and sending Drew a quick text explaining he was with Eli and asking his brother to retrieve his skateboard and his math book from his locker.

Eli crossed the room and knelt in front of the dresser. After a moment he turned around, a bottle of vodka in his hands.

"Drink?" he asked, voice soft, not meeting Adam's eyes.

Adam shook his head wordlessly, but Eli didn't seem to care. He grabbed a glass from a box near the foot of the bed and filled it with a generous amount of alcohol. He set the glass next to Adam and sank into the bed, lifting the bottle to his lips.

Adam winced, watching Eli knock back the harsh liquor and awkwardly ran his finger around the rim of the glass in his hand.

"When I was a kid," Eli began quietly, gesturing restlessly to the spot next to him on the bed; an invitation for Adam to sit, "I got my ass kicked _every fucking day_ at school."

Adam sat silently, shifting uncomfortably as a magazine crinkled underneath him. He fished it out and set it gently on the floor.

"I hated my life, Adam," Eli admitted, voice full of emotion. "I wanted to die. Or I wanted _them_ to die. Something, you know?"

Adam nodded raising the glass to his mouth and sniffing tentatively. He'd had alcohol before, but only beer – and rum and coke that time at Danny's party.

"I was scared. And ashamed. They did some fucked up shit, you know? One time they pushed my face into a toilet and told me to drink. Because I was a _dog _get it? Fuck."

He sat up violently, rubbing his face and taking another long pull from the bottle.

"One time, they punched me so hard in the kidneys that I pissed blood for a week," he whispered.

"Jesus," Adam whispered, taking a quick nervous gulp of the vodka. It burned his throat and he coughed. Eli either had the good grace to ignore him or was too wrapped up in his own memories to notice.

"This went on for _years_, man," Eli told him. "And then one day... I just got _so fed up_...

"We were playing flag football one day. They kept getting really rough. It wasn't supposed to be _tackle_ but one of the little bastards was the gym teacher's _nephew, _so..."

Eli lit a cigarette.

Adam took another sip of vodka, prepared for the bite this time.

"They busted my lip against my teeth. My mouth was all bloody and my knees and my elbows were all scraped up. I asked the teacher to stop playing but he told me to stick it out. They tackled me again – facefirst in to pile of _dog shit_. Oh, God, the _smell_."

Eli's face wrinkled in disgust. He twisted his body so that he and Adam were eye-to-eye.

"I completely freaked out. I had it in my _mouth,_ man. I just... _lunged_ at the first guy I could. Kicking, screaming, biting – I think I really actually scared them. I got to wail on him for a bit before anyone did anything. I _kicked the shit_ out of this kid, Adam."

He kept looking at Adam like he expected him to say something. Adam blinked slowly and licked his lips.

"That's the day," Eli continued, voice low and serious; eyes smoldering, "That's the day I figured out the game. I'd begged with them before. I'd made trades, I'd offered them things. I was willing to do whatever they wanted to get them to lay off but none of it worked. Guys like that? They only respond to _one_ _thing_."

Eli stood up from the bed and began pacing, flipping the cigarette through his fingers restlessly.

"_Violence_. You gotta give 'em the violence. You gotta give them what they're givin' _you_. You gotta give it better. Here's the thing," he spun around, looking almost frantic. "They're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards. They're _weak as hell_. They're _shit_. And, ready for the kicker? They _know it_. They _know_ that they're shit. It drives them fucking crazy. So, they find someone else – someone smaller, someone _weaker_ and they do their fucking _best_ to ruin you. They want to knock you down, just so that they feel a bit taller. Get it?"

Eli ground the burning red tip of the cigarette against a wall and rubbed his face with his hand.

"They never expect you to turn on them. They never expect you to fight back. Truth is, Adam, fuckers like that can't _handle_ a fight. That's why you gotta give it to them. That's why you gotta make 'em sorry they ever fucking saw your face. That's why you gotta say '_know what, fuck you, I'm not taking your shit anymore.'_ That's why you gotta _defend yourself _and that's why you gotta give 'em that _violence_ – because the second you _do_ they're gonna know just what kind of _mistake_ they've been making."

"I..." Adam's voice betrayed the fear that was beginning to creep up on him. "What are you _planning_, Eli?"

"Nothing," Eli held his hands out, palms open, conciliatory. "No _plan_. Just..."

He stepped forward quickly, dropping to his knees in front of Adam, looking him directly in the eye. It was oddly intimate, and Adam found himself growing uncomfortable. "Eli...?"

"I want _you_," Eli began, licking his lips, "to let me help you put an end to this shit. No _plan,_ no big gesture. We're just... we're just not going to let them keep getting away with this. With hurting you. We don't deserve that, Adam."

Adam nodded, inching away from Eli slightly.

"I was _you_. I was the victim. But then I decided not to let that happen any more," Eli spoke, eyes boring straight through him. "Do you understand?"

There was a pregnant pause. Adam felt the weight of Eli's gaze and wanted to flinch away, but couldn't bring himself to break eye contact.

"Yeah," Adam spoke, voice raw.

Eli stared at him a moment longer before picking himself up off the floor and throwing himself on the bed next to him. He reached out and grabbed Adam by the back of his hoodie, pulling the smaller boy down on the bed.

"So, what's all this about you teaching Clare how to_ skate_?"

* * *

**AN:** You took the time to read this - and I'm grateful, really. Think you could take an extra minute and a half to tell me what you thought? I'm very interested in your feelings! Seriously, though, it's a good motivator to keep me writing, and the more I write the faster the updates come.

-Orange


	4. Ch3: The Fine Art of Making it Out Alive

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** I've got a Torres Bros. oneshot in the same universe as this story that I'll probably be posting in the next couple of days. Maybe even today! Look out for it.

Also - ohmygod that promo, you guys. Ohmygod.

My betas **drevil99** and **TwistedRaver** saved earth from a deadly meteor one time - also, they did great with this chapter.

**Warnings:** Hey! Everyone! Drugs happen in this one! And underage drinking! If you read it you'll probably start doing a lot of drugs and then you'll put a baby in the microwave and it's REALLY NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE, KIDS.

**ANOTHER NOTE ABOUT THIS BEING AN AU FIC**: This doesn't take place in canon. NOT CANON. **Adam is stealth** - no one (aside from his family, at this point) knows he's transgender. There are lots of other differences - everyone's backstory is kind of different, as I hope will become obvious through the course of the story (should you continue reading, and I really hope you _do_). I think that's everything I wanted to cover. If there are any lingering questions, let me know in a review.

* * *

"Whoa-ohmygod," Clare screeched, arms flailing.

Adam sprung forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and sliding his foot in front of the board – effectively stopping its rolling and steadying the girl in front of him.

"I've got you," he reassured her softly, cheek pressed against her shoulder. _God,_ she was so _soft._

"Oh my goodness," she whispered breathlessly. She stood motionless on the skateboard for several moments longer, panting heavily. With his arms around her body he was acutely aware of every deep inhale and shaky exhale she took. The sounds she was making and the feel of her body as it flexed and trembled against him was driving Adam crazy. It sent his head swimming and his heart thumping and had his stomach flipping like a fish on a dock. His whole body felt uncomfortably hot, despite the pervasive chill in the air around them. His legs felt wobbly and unsure and he kind of wanted to throw up.

Basically it was awesome.

And terrible.

He wasn't sure what to do, so he didn't do anything.

After several long moments Clare gently removed herself from his grip and stepped off the skateboard. She turned around and bit her lip sheepishly.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Adam?" she blinked prettily.

Adam shook his head lightly and tried to focus on her words and not the pronounced rise and fall of her chest.

"Um, what?" he managed.

"I don't know," she laughed, cheeks reddening. "I just think that maybe skateboarding was designed for people with more, you know, _coordination_."

"What are you talking about?" he shook his head, edging forward slightly and wrapping his hands around her biceps. "You're doing great," he assured her, thumbs making gentle swirls on her shoulders.

She blushed even more heavily but made no moves to break his light grip. "I've almost fallen, like, _eight times_."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "And we've been at this for, what? An hour and a half?"

"I know! I should have gotten the hang of this by now," Clare grumbled.

"Are you kidding?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, I mean... look at you! You can manage to stand up and _go _more than three feet without falling over!"

"You've never been on a board before," he reminded her. "I've been doing this for four years, Clare."

She shrugged and bit her lip again petulantly. "I know, I know... it's just..."

He released her shoulders and took a step back. "Wanna see something?"

She nodded, leaning forward.

Adam grabbed his shirt sleeve, intending to pull it up and show her the three inch long scar under his elbow where they'd put the plates and screws that kept his arm together for a year. But in order to see _that_ scar she would have to see all of the others and the thought left him queasy and anxious.

He hesitated. He could show her the scar on his calf – where he'd lost a chunk of his leg from a particularly stupid stunt around way too much scattered rebar.

But what if she noticed he didn't have a lot of leg hair and thought it was weird and-

"What is it, Adam?" she pressed, curious.

Adam scratched his chin, realizing he'd been lost in his head for a while and she was still expecting to see _something_.

"Oh," he shifted, making a decision. He bit the inside of his cheek hard before reaching up and taking his beanie off. "Look."

He parted his hair with his left hand and pointed out the winding pink scar that cut a jagged path through his hairline.

"Wow, Adam," breathed Clare.

He fought down a wave of panic and nausea when she reached up her hand and gently ran her fingertips along the raised skin. He shivered at the strange sensation and clenched his hands nervously at his sides.

"How did...?"

His throat felt dry.

"Ate shit down a flight of stairs," he lied, trying to keep his growing sense of anxiety out of his voice.

In truth, he remembered the attack with a sickening vividness. It only seemed fair that, given the blunt force trauma, he would at least be spared the memories.

Apparently, not, though.

He could still _hear_ the brutal crack of the pipe.

And how his vision swam and how the pain was so intense that he vomited.

The feel of the gravel against his cheek and thinking _I am going to die here._

"I'm sorry," Clare's voice shook him out of his memories. "Were you trying to convince me to _keep_ skating?"

Adam blinked, taking a step back and laughing shakily as he slipped his hat back over his head.

"I won't be taking you down any stairs any time soon, I promise," Adam teased. "But... I wasn't trying to discourage you or anything. I'm trying to show you that... yeah, _you're going to eat shit_. At some point or another you're going to fall down, or fuck up a trick, or something. And it might hurt like hell. And, yeah, maybe you'll even get injured-"

"Please tell me you're not looking for a career as a motivational speaker," she joked.

"-but it's _worth it_," he pressed, ignoring her. "I mean... look at me."

She took a step back and gave him an exaggerated teasing once-over. "I'm looking."

He shook his head, grinning. "I mean – look. You saw that scar – and there's more where that came from. Now, do you think I'd get hurt that bad and then keep going, y'know, just because?"

She shook her head slowly, starting to pick up on what he was trying to say.

"It's just..." he gestured emphatically, having a difficult time putting the intensity of his feelings into words. "It's the best feeling in the world. It's like nothing else counts, you know? My parents, my grades, my-"

He cut himself off, swallowing.

"It's like... therapy," he finished lamely, frustrated with his perceived inability to articulate himself. "You know?"

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. "I think so," she told him. "I think what you're talking about is like what writing is for me. Maybe."

He tugged his sleeves nervously and waited for her to continue.

"Like... when you're doing it and it's _good_ - that's all that counts, right?" she asked softly. "Whatever you're feeling - like if you're frustrated or... _sad_ or," she paused, swallowing and tearing her eyes from him. "Or something."

Adam exhaled heavily. He stared at her, trying to will her eyes back to his but she just stood there, resolute - seemingly unable to look at him.

After a long moment he stepped forward and gingerly wrapped his arms around her.

She stiffened and after a moment with no reciprocation he felt a wave of intense horror flood his stomach.

Then she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders and sighed in that shaky, breathy way that made him want to not have to let go.

They stood that way for a long moment - her cheek pressed against his shoulder, his hands fisted in her sweater. Breathing together and taking comfort in one another's presence.

"Hey!" Eli's voice shattered the fragile moment. "Would you look at you two lovebirds! Should I - should I come back later?"

Clare broke their embrace instantly and ran toward Eli. "You jerk," she slapped his shoulder playfully.

"No really," Eli continued. His smirk was lazy and smug as ever, but there was a cutting note in his voice and the way he locked eyes with Adam made the younger boy shift and swallow uncomfortably. "If I'm interrupting anything, I can go for a while. Come back when you're... finished."

"Oh shut up," Clare said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing.

Eli returned the embrace and nuzzled her neck with his face briefly before looking back up at Adam.

"Sorry, I'm late," he said.

"That's fine," Clare assured him, stepping back. "Adam was just trying to impart some sense of _balance_ to me."

_She invited him here_.

Adam turned his back to them and picked the board up, running his hands over the tape.

_God, she invited him here._

"You mean I missed you on the skateboard?" Eli teased. "Geez, I'm _really _sorry I'm late."

Clare pushed his shoulder and giggled.

"Was it awesome, Adam?" Eli demanded, wrapping an arm around Clare's shoulder. "I mean, she can barely manage staying up-right under normal circumstances, I can only _imagine_ the kind of grace she displays on a _skateboard_."

Clare's mouth twisted in hurt for a moment. "It... it wasn't _that_ bad."

"Well, you _do _seem to have all your limbs still attached," Eli admitted, apparently oblivious to Clare's slow withdrawal.

"She was doing really well, actually," Adam joined in, a strength in his voice that surprised him.

"Really," Eli's voice was flat. He glared at Adam.

"Really?" Clare echoed, twisting her fingers nervously.

"Yeah," Adam continued, tearing his gaze from Eli and turning to Clare. "I was actually really impressed."

"Great," Eli said, squeezing Clare's shoulder. "Why don't you show me a bit of what you learned then, Clare?"

Clare bit her lip, glancing back to Adam. "I don't know. I mean - should I?"

Adam opened his mouth to speak.

"Absolutely," Eli cut him off. He put his hands on Clare's shoulders and turned her body around. She looked into his eyes, teeth worrying her lip - vulnerable and eager to please. "I was just joking earlier, Clare," he assured her softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear tenderly. "I'm sure you did amazing. I mean... you're _you_. Why don't you show me?"

"Really?" she asked, glee apparent in her voice.

"Really," he nodded and smiled warmly.

"Okay," she trotted back to Adam and he handed her the skateboard wordlessly.

She stepped back onto it and gingerly set about skating around the empty lot.

Adam watched her wordlessly. He felt Eli walk up behind him.

"I've been trying to convince her to get back on the board for the better part of fifteen minutes," he admitted, quietly.

"Really," Eli drawled. "Funny thing that. Right, Adam?"

He punched him in the shoulder.

It hurt.

Adam clenched his fists at his sides - fighting back the instinct to rub the sore spot.

"Hilarious."

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"You sure you have to go?" Eli blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and fixed Clare with a playful pout.

"Pretty sure, yeah," Clare whispered looking deep into his eyes. "My, um... my parents. They've planned this dinner for a while, I can't miss it."

"Oh," Eli wrapped his hands around her fingers and squeezed. "Cool," expression on his face was so pathetic Adam was barely able to suppress a gag.

"I..." Clare's pretty face was twisted with guilt. "I'll make it up to you? I'm really sorry, I just... I can't miss this."

"It's okay," Eli whispered, smiling softly. "I understand."

"I'm really sorry," Clare said again, looking down at their clasped hands.

"Don't be sorry," Eli instructed, squeezing her fingers again. "You better get in there. They're probably waiting."

"Yeah," she whispered. She looked back into his eyes and swallowed hard, swaying forward a little before catching herself and jerking backwards. "Um. Bye."

"Goodbye," Eli smiled sadly.

"Bye, Clare," Adam called from the backseat, a trace of annoyance seeping into his voice.

"Oh, um, bye Adam," Clare glanced at him briefly. "I'll see you later, okay, Eli?" she smiled shakily at him.

"Count on it," he promised, lowly.

She grinned dreamily before exiting the car and trotting up the steps to her house. She glanced back at him and waved shyly before slipping into the house.

Eli sighed heavily in the front seat. "Fucking _finally_."

Adam blinked. "Dude. What?"

Eli looked back at him and rolled his eyes. "I thought she'd _never_ fucking leave, man."

"I..." Adam trailed off, shaking his head.

_What a dick_.

"Come on, get your ass up here," Eli instructed him, reaching into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes.

Adam scrambled over the center console and dropped heavily into the front passenger seat.

"Smoke?" Eli asked casually, as he lit the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Adam shook his head wordlessly and tried not to stare at the way Eli's throat worked with his first deep inhale.

"Aw, c'mon?" Eli pushed the smoke out his nose and looked pointedly at Adam. "Really? Loosen up, man."

"I don't really-" Adam started.

"Hey," Eli cut him off, pushing the pack toward him. "Look, Adam, if you're going to be a little pussy the rest of the night I might as well drop you off at home, too. Why do you think I got rid of Clare?"

Adam's brows furrowed. "She had to go."

Eli rolled his eyes. "I _let_ her go."

Adam shook his head, incredulous.

"Dude, you saw how she was looking at me," Eli pointed out, his voice low and even. "If I wanted her here, do you really think she'd be anywhere else?"

Adam couldn't look at him anymore, so he turned his face to the window and exhaled; drawing patterns on the foggy glass with his fingertip.

"Seriously man, are you gonna be cool or should I take you home?" Eli pressed.

Adam looked back at him, annoyed. "Why is this such a big fucking deal to you?" he asked dejected, plucking the proffered cigarette from between Eli's fingers.

Eli smirked, satisfied and pulled away from the curb.

"'Cause we're gonna go meet some people and if you're going to freak out over a goddamn cigarette then I really _cannot_ afford to bring you."

"Where are we going?" Adam asked nervously. "Eli, what-"

"Chill," Eli ordered. "You gonna be a bitch?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably.

They pulled up to a red light and Eli turned to look at him. "Hey."

Adam faced him, unlit cigarette resting between his lips.

Eli flipped open his Zippo, cupping his palm around Adam's mouth and lighting the cigarette. Adam fought back a blush and forced himself to not react as Eli held his gaze with intensity.

Adam took a deep drag off the cigarette and fought back a cough as the acrid smoke filled his lungs.

Eli patted his cheek. "Good boy," he whispered.

Adam pulled away from him uncomfortably and settled back into the seat, arms folded across his chest.

Eli had this habit of doing things like that. Gestures that felt oddly... intimate.

It confused the hell out of Adam. He took several restless puffs off the cigarette and rolled the window down, tapping his fingers along with the Blaqk Audio song on the radio.

Did Eli do it just to fuck with him?

Was Eli hitting on him?

Was he even aware of how fucking _weird_ it was?

"Are you going to be cool?" Eli asked.

Adam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, relieved to find Eli focused on the road and not leveling that intense gaze on him.

"Yeah," Adam said through a puff of smoke.

Eli nodded, taking another drag and turning the music up.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

After ten minutes of driving Eli pulled up at the curb of an unfamiliar townhome in a less than savory neighborhood.

"What are we doing here?" Adam asked, eyeing the patchy lawn and the Christmas lights that were up despite Christmas being months away.

Eli ignored him, stepping out of the car and flicking his cigarette into the gutter. Adam hesitated, fingers twitching along the handle of the door but the annoyed look Eli through him over his shoulder pushed him to exit the car and trot after the older boy.

Eli walked up the cracked concrete path to the door. He cleared his throat once before lifting his fist and violently banging several times on the door.

Adam heard several shouts from inside and the sound of approaching footsteps.

The door opened and a round old woman peeked out at them cautiously. Her caramel skin was worn and wrinkled. Adam saw a child, probably around 5 or 6, peering out from behind her legs. The woman frowned darkly as she looked at Eli.

"Gabriel!" she called, voice rough and heavily accented.

"_Que quieres?_" was the response from upstairs.

"_Tu amigos esta aqui._"

A moment later Adam heard the pounding of feet down the stairs and a boy showed up behind the woman. He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

"Fuck," he said flatly when his eyes fell on Eli.

Eli smirked. "Hey Gabby."

The boy scowled and stepped out the door, shutting it behind him, forcing Eli a couple steps back with a hand on his chest.

"I thought I told you not to come to my _fucking house, _anymore, Eli," he bit.

The boy was tall and lanky. He was shirtless, nipples hard in the cold air; Adam could see the outline of his ribs when he breathed in. His dark hair was long and shaggy, with bangs dyed bright blue and red that draped over his eyes. There was a birthmark inside his forearm and a tattoo of a lipstick kiss on his hipbone. There was faint stubble on his chin but his body was smooth and hairless.

The strange boy's gaze broke from Eli and swung over to him. Adam felt his face get hot and looked at the ground as he felt the taller boy's eyes rake over his body.

"And who the fuck is this?"

"Glad to see you're still the ray of sunshine you always were, Gabe," Eli drawled.

"Fuck off, you son of a bitch," the boy snapped, shoving Eli back a couple steps. "What the fuck do you want?"

_What the hell did Eli do to piss this guy off and _why_ did he bring me here?_

Eli rolled his eyes, appearing more bored than threatened. "Fuck. Maybe I wouldn't have made the trip if I'd known you were on your period."

Adam flinched.

No one noticed.

"Seriously, Eli," the boy sighed, tugging his hair restlessly.

"Hook me up, Gabby," Eli said simply.

"Don't fucking call me that," Gabriel chastised. "I hate when you call me that."

"Sorry," Eli offered insincerely.

Gabriel shifted, rubbing his elbow absently. "What did you have in mind?"

Eli shrugged. "A good time. Me and my friend here have had a shitty week."

Gabriel looked back at Adam appraisingly.

"Um," Adam cleared his throat. "Adam."

He smiled weakly offering his hand.

The boy just raised his eyebrow.

"Gabriel," he said, making no move to shake hands.

Adam dropped his arm, haltingly.

"You gotta take me to Dorian's," Gabriel said, turning back to Eli. "I don't have anything on me."

Eli sighed dramatically. "Fuck, Gabe."

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Don't be a bitch, Eli."

Eli frowned. "Dorian hates me."

"_I_ hate you," the other boy said simply. "It hasn't stopped you yet."

"You don't hate me," Eli whispered flirtatiously.

The boy grimaced and pushed Eli back again. "Whatever. Dorian's?"

Eli nodded and turned back to the car. "Sure."

The boy disappeared back inside.

Adam followed Eli back to the car.

"What just happened?" he asked slowly.

Eli shrugged.

"Who the hell is Dorian?"

"Get in the backseat," Eli instructed. "Unless you want to listen to Gabby bitch for twenty minutes."

After a moment, Gabriel stepped back out of the house. He slipped into the car and leaned across the seat to whisper something to Eli.

Eli grinned and started the car up again.

_What the fuck am I getting into?_ Adam wondered dejectedly.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

Adam followed Eli and Gabriel up the steps in a shady looking apartment building, a growing sense of anxiety building in his stomach.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to belie his nervousness to the other boys.

They stopped suddenly in front of a door marked 312. Gabriel stepped forward and knocked three times in quick succession.

Adam could hear thumping bass from inside and the faint sound of voices.

The door swung open and an imposing looking man was suddenly looking out at them.

He was tall and built like a brick wall. His hair was buzzed short, a nasty looking scar cutting a jagged path along his scalp.

"The fuck is this?" he demanded, his lip curling unpleasantly as his eyes fell on Eli.

"Baby," Gabriel murmured placatingly, stepping forward and bringing his mouth to the man's ear.

Adam shifted uncomfortably as the man's gaze bore into him. He was suddenly grateful for Gabriel's presence and the buffer it provided.

After a long moment the intimidating man nodded and leaned back. Gabriel pressed his lips to the side of the man's mouth as he gave Eli another cold look.

"Watch yourself, Godlsworthy," he sneered before turning around and stalking off into the apartment.

"Bitch," Eli whispered.

Adam tensed in horror as the man paused – considerable muscles clenching imposingly.

_Oh, God, he's going to get us killed._

Then the man shook his head and kept going down the hall.

"He's going to put you in the fucking ground, Eli," Gabriel scolded quietly. "Stop fucking around."

Eli shrugged, following the other boy with no hint of fear in his posture. He dropped casually on the couch giving a perfunctory nod to several other people around the living room. Most of them seemed to ignore him.

Adam followed hesitatingly, growing increasingly nervous from the amount of smoke in the room and the sketchy looking people scattered around the room. A group of three twitchy looking guys were huddled in the corner smoking something clear and _definitely_ not weed.

_Holy fuck, Eli_.

"Adam," Eli's quiet voice drew his attention.

The older boy shook his head subtly and gestured to the spot on the couch next to him.

Adam sat next to him gingerly.

"I don't know about this, Eli," he whispered panic growing.

"It's cool," Eli's lips brushed his ear and he wrapped his arm comfortingly around Adam's shoulder. "I got you. Chill."

"I just-"

Eli cut him off with a quick cuff to the back of the head as Gabriel emerged from the hallway he'd disappeared down.

"Got your candy," the boy grinned, pupils noticeably larger. A sway to his walk that Adam hadn't noticed before.

Eli nodded.

"You boys are in luck. Dorian's mood improved noticeably as soon as he made it to a room with less Eli," he winked. "He threw in some ice for ya, Elijah."

Eli stood up from the couch quickly. "Nah. Just the usual."

Adam couldn't stop the sigh of relief from leaving his body.

Gabriel shook his head. "Silly boy. It's rude to refuse gifts, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'm a dick," Eli said simply. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a roll of bills. "Here."

Gabriel pocketed the cash with impressive speed and tossed a bag to Eli. "You sure you don't want the free goodies?"

"Positive," Eli assured him. "Do you need a ride back?"

"Nah," he shook his head, a dreamy smile on his lips. "Dorian wants me here."

Eli grimaced. "Cool. Whatever. Bye, Gabe."

"Seeya."

It took all of Adam's willpower not to _run_ out of the damn building.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"What did we just buy?' Adam asked after several long moments of silence.

Eli glanced at him briefly. "_We_ didn't buy anything..."

"Eli," Adam pressed. "Seriously."

Eli sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "We bought $30 worth of weed and some oxy. A bit of E."

Adam scratched his neck nervously. "I... take me home, man."

"What?" Eli asked annoyed.

"Take me home," Adam repeated, uneasily. "Oxycontin? Ecstasy? I don't do that shit, man."

"Relax," Eli scowled. "Me neither."

"Then why did-" Adam bit his lip. "Shit, are you going to try to sell it?"

_Fuck_,_ this is all _so_ illegal._

All Adam could think about was those videos they showed them every year in school about how drugs ruined everyone's life.

_Oh, God_ his mom would fucking _freak_-

"No," Eli assured him. "Jesus."

"Then _why_-"

"It's for my brother, dude, chill," Eli snapped.

"You have a brother?" Adam questioned dumbly.

"_Yes_," Eli affirmed, voice clipped.

"Oh," was all Adam could say.

A beat of silence.

"What's his name?"

"Garrett."

"How old is-"

"He's 23."

"Okay."

Eli lit another cigarette.

The drive back to Eli's house passed in uncomfortable silence.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"Should I wait in the car?" Adam asked nervously when Eli pulled up outside of his house.

All Adam could think about was the edge in Eli's voice when he talked about his brother and the weird way they'd entered the house the last time and the strange scrapes and bruises that Eli always seemed to be sporting.

"I don't know," Eli said roughly, killing the engine and exiting the car with a firm slam of the door.

Adam didn't know _why_ he followed the older boy when every rational part of his body was screaming at him to wait in the car.

The house was dark. It smelled like vomit and alcohol. They passed a door that Adam was pretty sure belonged to Eli – he couldn't be certain. He'd only been here once before and that time they'd entered through the window on the side of the house.

Eli looked back at him for a moment before taking the stairs slowly. Adam followed suit cautiously, making sure to hang a couple steps back from his host.

They stopped in front of a plain looking white door at the end of the hallway and Adam's eyes were immediately drawn to the suspiciously fist-sized holes in the wall next to it.

_What the fuck_.

He swallowed nervously, rubbing his elbow.

"So, is-" Adam started.

"Shhh," Eli cut him off sharply.

He knocked once, twice and waited.

A couple heavy thumps shook the house before the door swung open.

_Deja vu_.

But the boy in the doorway looked less like the hulking mass of muscle that was Dorian and more like an older, more strung-out Eli.

The resemblance was almost uncanny – if it weren't for the older brother's scruffy facial hair and slight height advantage he and Eli could have passed for identical twins.

His glassy brown eyes locked onto Eli, seemingly ignoring Adam.

Not that he had a problem with that.

"What," his voice was flat and threatening.

Eli didn't say anything, just reached into his pocket and presented his brother with two baggies of pills.

He leaned out of the doorway a bit and grabbed the bag from Eli.

"Nice one," he grunted. He frowned, blinking as he noticed Adam. "Who's this?"

Eli tensed visibly. "Friend of mine."

"No fucking shit," Garrett barked, stepping out of his room and shouldering past Eli roughly. He took a step closer to Adam and the smaller boy took an unconscious step backward fighting not to gag as the rancid smell of alcohol and sweat hit his nose. "What's your name?"

Eli's gaze burned a hole in the side of his face.

Adam bit his lip hard. "Um, Adam."

"Hmmph," he scoffed. "I expected you to have a more faggoty name like the rest of his buttbuddies."

Garrett laughed like he'd just made the most hilarious joke ever. He turned to Eli and grabbed him in a rough headlock, ruffling his hair ferociously.

Adam smiled uncomfortably.

Eli just winced and stared at the ground until Garrett released him.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said flatly, returning to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Adam shifted. "So, what was...?"

Eli ignored him, heading back down the stairs.

"Let's go to my room," he said, an odd note of defeat in his voice. "We're gonna get fucked up."

The weird atmosphere left no room for argument. Adam followed him obediently.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"Shit," Adam slurred. "I gotta be getting home."

"What?" Eli groaned. "C'mon, Adam. It's fucking... 12:30."

"I know," Adam sighed. "My mom's gonna flip her shit."

His head felt cloudy and his tongue was unnaturally heavy in his mouth.

_Yep_, he thought. _I am definitely high_.

He stood up from the bed, legs wobbly and almost topped over.

_And drunk_.

"Just stay here," Eli suggested.

The thought had crossed his mind.

But his chest was starting to ache already and he couldn't shake the memory of the last time he'd binded too long.

"Nah, man," he shook his head sluggishly. "No can do."

"Why the fuck not?" Eli whined. "You're already going to be in trouble."

Adam shrugged. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing he could explain to Eli.

_Sorry, man, I gotta go home and let my tits out. I could break my ribs this way._

He grimaced painfully.

Yeah, _that_ was how he wanted to come out to, arguably, his only friend.

"_Fuck_," Eli shouted, struggling to get up. "I guess I could drive you."

"No fucking way," Adam refused.

He wasn't_ that_ wasted yet.

"Well, it's not like you can _walk it_," Eli shot back.

Adam sunk back into the bed, his head in his hands. "Right. Fuck."

Eli blinked slowly. "Just fucking stay."

"No," Adam shook his head again. "I'll call Drew."

"Your mom would let Drew take the car out this late?" Eli scoffed.

Adam rubbed his temple thoughtfully. "No. But if he does this right she won't know. I'm gonna call in a favor."

Eli rolled his eyes and threw himself back onto the bed. "Whatever."

Drew picked up the phone after two rings.

"_Dude_, where the Hell are you?"

"Eli's," Adam admitted, trying to control his slur. "Can you come get me?"

"What the fuck, Adam?"

"C'mon, Drew."

"Are you _drunk_?"

"I really need a ride," Adam continued. "I can't stay here."

"No shit," Drew grumbled. "Text me the address."

"Thanks, big brother," Adam grinned.

"_Bye_, Adam," Drew's voice had a warning edge that made him frown a bit.

"He's coming?" Eli asked as Adam clumsily texted the address to his brother.

"Yeah."

Eli swallowed. "That's good."

Adam nodded, sinking back into the bed next to him.

"Drew's a pretty good guy, right?" Eli asked.

Adam shrugged. "He's good to _me_."

Eli hummed.

"He's kind of a dick to most other people," Adam admitted. "But, I mean, we look out for each other."

"Must be nice," Eli whispered, something in his voice raw and fragile.

"We're brothers," Adam said simply. "You don't have that with Garrett?"

Eli sighed shakily.

"Let me put it this way," he said, with a bitter chuckle. "The only time Garrett looks out for me is when he's looking to beat my ass."

Adam didn't know what to say.

They were silent until Drew texted him to say he was outside.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"_Fuck_, Adam," Drew whispered as Adam once again stumbled on the steps, almost sending them toppling.

Adam couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled past his lips.

"Jesus," Drew sighed in exasperation, slapping a hand over Adam's mouth to quiet him. The action causing Adam's teeth to cut into his lips.

"Ow," he said through Drew's fingers.

"Shut the fuck up," Drew whispered harshly. "The last thing you need is to have_ mom_ wake up to this."

A precarious minute and a half later found them standing in the middle of Adam's room. Drew pushed Adam back onto the bed and kneeled down to help him with his shoes.

"God, I really hope you don't plan on making this a habit," Drew scolded him.

"Hey," Adam frowned. "Don't get all high and mighty on me about this."

"I'm not," Drew pulled his sneakers off roughly. "I'm just saying that you are one _lousy_ drunk. Either cut this shit out or get better at it."

"How'm I s'pposed to get better if I never practice?" Adam asked him.

Drew rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he stood up. "Good point. Cut this shit out."

Adam rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed.

Drew bit his lip pensively. "Do you – do you need help with your...?"

Adam's brows furrowed as his substance-hindered brain struggled to decipher his brother's vagueness.

"The bandages," Drew sighed, annoyed.

"_Oh_," Adam chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Um... probably not."

Drew sighed, stepping forward and grabbing the hem of Adam's shirt.

"Ow," Adam mumbled as Drew yanked it roughly over his head.

"Well, c'mon, then," Drew complained.

"Sorry," Adam fumbled with the safety pin, alcohol making his fingers clumsy and useless.

Drew crouched down and deftly clicked open the pin.

"Thanks, bro," Adam whispered.

Drew nodded, turning to leave. He paused in the doorway. "You're welcome," he spoke, voice unusually soft. "Get some rest, Adam. You're gonna need it to deal with mom in the morning."

"Love you, Andrew," Adam told him.

"I love you too."

The door shut with a soft click.

* * *

**AN:** SHIT, SON! Eli's got a brother! A brother who is seriously sketchy! I WONDER IF HE'LL SHOW UP LATER AND DO MORE THINGS.

Seriously, you guys have been amazing with reviews. I try my best to respond to each one to show my gratitude. They're so nice! And inspiring! Please remember to send me some feedback, if you've got the time.

-Orange


	5. Ch4: All Against All

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** Check out my Torres Bros oneshot, **All Things Ordinary** - it started out as chapter 3 of this fic, but the tone wasn't quite right (not nearly tense and soul-crushing enough!) so I pulled it. But I loved it too much to scrap, so I decided to post it as a oneshot. Same story-verse, but it only references (very, very vaguely and only if you squint) parts of the story that haven't even been formally addressed yet, so I don't know. Go read it though. It has Drew and Adam being cute and stuff.

Much love to **DarkDefender89** - he consulted on this chapter. I'm cisgender and have all the privileges that come with that. I've never had gender dysphoria and I've never had to deal with any of the shit so many trans people have to face day-in, day out. I've been self-educating on trans-issues for a couple years now and I've spoken with friends and loved ones, but I've still got a long way to go. Kaden read over the dysphoria scene for me because I was freaking out about "oh god what if I got it all wrong and this is totally offensive and ruins everything." He was very nice and patient with me and gave me some suggestions which I think improved the story. However! If any of you take issue with something I've written (and this applies to EVERYTHING I've written/will write) pleasepleaseplease call me out on it. I won't get mad or be a dick. Like I said: I've got a lot to learn and I'm very open to that. Privilege is so insidious, if you don't tell me when to check mine I might not realize it's peeking out.

[Insert Something Witty and Charming about] my betas **drevil99** and **TwistedRaver **[other words] and then they beta'd this chapter and were awesome.

**Warnings:** TRIGGER WARNING FOR DYSPHORIA AND DISCUSSION OF SELF-HARM AND DEPRESSION.

**SAME EXACT NOTE AS LAST TIME BUT READ IT NOW IF YOU DIDN'T THEN BECAUSE SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS IT'S IMPORTANT FOR CONTEXT**: This doesn't take place in canon. NOT CANON. **Adam is stealth** - no one (aside from his family, at this point) knows he's transgender. There are lots of other differences - everyone's backstory is kind of different, as I hope will become obvious through the course of the story (should you continue reading, and I really hope you _do_). I think that's everything I wanted to cover. If there are any lingering questions, let me know in a review.

* * *

Six in the morning held a unique kind of beauty, once you got the sleep out of your eyes and the blood into your legs.

Adam exhaled a puff of white steam and watched as it drifted and evaporated into the cold Toronto air.

He stood, cup of hot coffee in one gloved hand, back pressed into the cold brick wall of the building behind him.

He took a sip, relished the burn on his tongue and watched the world wake up.

The reluctant commuter; sitting in her car, listening to traffic updates and squeezing the wheel too hard because _everyone in this city drives like an idiot._

The tired, grizzled minimum wage warriors; bundled up and silent as they stood at the bus stop, ready to work too hard for not enough money.

Shopkeepers opening their businesses all along the street; worrying about breaking even or those loaves of bread that they needed to use today or they'd have to be thrown out.

Smug, awful joggers looking for more teens with skateboards trying to find a moment of damn _peace_ before the world inhaled them; eager to wreck someone _else's_ morning.

Or something.

Adam glowered at the jogger that passed him. The bewildered man looked back over his shoulder and stumbled, nearly taking out a woman walking a golden retriever – the dog yipped and snapped at the man's heels.

Adam smirked and took another long sip of coffee.

Beautiful.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

Adam had committed himself to a slow but thorough examination of all the public parks between his house and school.

So far, he'd been to five. Of them, only two are any good for skating, but there's one that's a little out of the way that he thinks he likes best. It's kind of small; lots of trees and bushes but only one playground area; it's small and in ragged condition at that. The swings creek loudly and the monkeybars are rusty. He'd only been to the park twice but both times he was completely alone.

There was still an hour before school and Rusty Park is only two blocks away from Degrassi, so that where he decided to to kill the time.

He liked parks because they were free and always open. He didn't have a job and going to Eli's house usually left him feeling really weird, so if he wanted to have someplace to be that wasn't school or home and wouldn't cost him any money, it pretty much just left parks.

As he approached the playground he noticed a figure on the swingset.

Whoever it was was facing away from him. Head down, legs curled up under the swing.

He hesitated, breathing through his nose and observing them.

_Maybe I should skip the park. Go to school. I mean, it's pretty cold. I could probably study._

_But I don't want to go hang out at Degrassi for an hour. What if I run into Fitz, or Eli, or Clare. I don't want to have to..._

The figure hadn't moved at all.

Adam, bit his lip anxiously.

_What if they're hurt?_

He glanced around. No one else was in the park.

_What if they're an ax murderer?_

Well, it didn't _look_ like they had an ax...

_If they're hurt and you don't do anything and you read about it in the paper tomorrow you will never feel good ever again._

Adam, sighed, tapping the board nervously against his knee and taking a few steps forward.

"Um, hey?" he called out, voice unsure. "You okay?"

No response.

"Shit," he whispered, jogging forward.

_Please, don't stab me_, he pleaded silently as he approached, noticing the person tense. From this distance it was obvious that it was either a girl or a really small dude. There were no defining characteristics – they were wrapped up in an over-large hoodie.

"Are you okay?" he asked again slowly. "Um. _Êtes-vous d'accord_?

He stepped forward, reaching out before snatching his hand back, a growing sense of unease in his stomach."_Est__á__s bien?_"

"Fuck!" the suddenness and familiarity of the voice startled him.

He took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet.

"I was kind of hoping you'd just go away, you know?" Bianca said as she turned to glare at him.

She looked... tired. Mascara running, nose pink, half-smoked cigarette dangling from between her full lips.

"Oh, great, it's _you_," she sighed, recognizing him.

Adam bit his lip. "Sorry?"

Wait. Why was he apologizing?

She rolled her eyes and turned back around, kicking off from the ground and swinging violently into the air. "Whatever."

Adam watched her for a while. He wasn't sure if he should leave.

Well, okay, _logically_ he should have gotten the fuck out of there once he realized that it was _Bianca_ and that she wasn't hurt (as far as he could tell).

But something kept him there.

Maybe it was the hunch in her shoulders, or the quiver in her voice, or the look in her eyes like she just needed a nap and someone to tell her something good.

Looking at her like that made his throat ache. She looked... fragile.

She looked the way he felt, half the time.

He wanted to reach out. To take her hands in his and look into her eyes and find himself. He wanted to see himself in her – at least to see something that validated the tenuous connection he felt to her.

He set his board down and hopped onto the swing next to her, trying not grimace at the distressed shriek of the rusty metal.

"Can I bum one of those?" he asked tentatively, nodding to the pack of cigarettes she was fumbling with.

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled quietly, tossing the pack his way with barely a glance.

Adam grinned, relieved.

_Thank God for the smoker's code_.

There was a strange sort of honor among those who smoked enough cigarettes to take them seriously. It was unthinkable to deny someone a smoke – be they some stranger off the street or your worst enemy.

Nicotine.

The great equalizer.

Adam lit the cigarette and handed the pack back to her.

"Thanks," he smiled gently.

She glanced at him, nodding.

"Didn't take you for a smoker," she admitted after a moment of silence.

He sat up straighter.

She was _talking to him?_

_Say something back, you idiot!_

"Uh," he swallowed. "Why not?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "You always sort of struck me as a bit of a mama's boy, or something."

He opened his mouth to object but stopped himself short.

She was sort of right.

He shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not by choice."

She raised an eyebrow but turned toward him a little, interested.

"My mom's kind of... freakishly over protective," Adam admitted, not sure why he was giving her any ammunition. But she was looking him in the eye now and he was desperate not to lose that connection, even if it came back to bite him in the ass. "Like, um, do you know my brother?"

She nodded slowly, pushing smoke through her nose. "The quarterback, right?"

"Yeah," he took a drag, swinging slowly. "So, then you remember when he got taped to the flagpole?"

She snorted. "Oh my God. _Yes_. I'm pretty sure everyone remembers that."

Adam smiled painfully.

The whole incident was still awkward.

On one hand, it was _Drew getting hazed_.

On the other, Drew told him what really went down. He definitely deserved it.

"So, yeah, after that my mom _flipped out_," Adam continued. "She was down at the school, like, _every day_ until that Riley kid confessed. And, _God_, it was probably worse at home. She would _not_ leave us alone about who did what and we were, like, on lock down until the whole thing got resolved. Fucking madness."

"Wow," Bianca tilted her head. "Your mom sounds like a total nutjob."

Adam laughed, kicking the ground. "Understatement of the year. But... that's family, y'know?"

She nodded, looking away from him, small smile fading from her face. "I guess."

Silence fell over them once more.

"Stop staring at me like that," she said after a beat, not looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, pushing himself off the swingset and wandering toward the junglegym.

"Is that a Dead Hand shirt?" she asked suddenly.

Adam paused, glancing down at himself. "Oh. Yeah. You like Dead Hand?"

"I love them," she said. "I figured you'd be more into... like, Nickelback or something."

Adam frowned. "Hey!"

"Well, what _do_ you listen to?" She challenged.

"Um, Story of the Year, All Time Low, A Static Lullaby, Underoath," he rattled off.

She snorted. "See?"

"C'mon, they're not freaking _Nickelback_," he protested. "What do _you_ listen to?"

"I like old hip hop," she said. "And, like, trance and house and dubstep and stuff. Dead Mau5, and Tiesto, and Burial. Ever heard of Salem?"

He frowned shaking his head slowly.

"Check 'em out," she suggested. "They're a total headfuck."

"What's your favorite Dead Hand album?" Adam asked.

"Hmmm... I really like Blue, but I'm gonna have to go with the self-titled one," Bianca said after a moment. "What about you?"

"Definitely the self-titled," Adam grinned. "What's your favorite song."

"'Stay'' she replied without hesitation. "Yours?"

"That's tough. 'Down' I guess," he nodded. "I really dig that part in the middle, when he screams."

She laughed. "I half-expected you to say 'Paisley Jacket.'"

"Hey," he sniffed indignantly. "What's _that_ supposed to mean? That's a good song, too."

"Yeah, it _was_ a good song until the radio played it absolutely to death and all the losers started going to the shows because DH got _popular_," Bianca rolled her eyes.

"You going to the reunion tour?"

"Are you kidding? Tickets sold out in, like, _five minutes."_

"Yeah, that was pretty crazy. By the time I had the money together there weren't any left."

"Same here."

Adam opened his mouth to respond, but broke off into a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Bianca demanded, a touch of nervousness in her voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just..." Adam paused, struggling to articulate his feelings. "Doesn't this feel a little surreal?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Bianca said slowly.

"You! And me! Having a civil conversation," Adam clarified. "I thought you _hated _me."

Bianca rolled her eyes. "I never _hated_ you."

Adam frowned, losing his good mood. "What are you talking about? Of course you hated me, you treated me like shit."

"What?" Bianca scowled, defensive. "Just 'cause I didn't fucking come in my pants that time you brought me my notebook?"

"Y-you," Adam sputtered. "You'd never even look my way! Whenever I tried to _talk_ to you, you acted as if I didn't exist."

"_You're_ acting like I somehow _owe_ you something," Bianca pointed out. "It's not my fault you're boring as hell."

"You _owe_ me at least a bit of decency," Adam shouted, all the bitterness and ugly feelings she inspired in him rising to the surface. "You could _at least_ treat me like a – a _person_. You could have done _something_ when – when Fitz and Owen-"

"So now it's my responsibility to look after you?" Bianca asked. "You're fucking ridiculous. I don't even _know_ you!"

"You could have made them _stop_," Adam spoke through clenched teeth, body trembling.

"Oh fuck," Bianca rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the swing. "You know what I really hate? Men who act like I owe them something, when I _don't_. Know what I hate more? _Weak_ little bitches who want me to take care of them"

She took a threatening step forward.

Adam swallowed hard but held his ground.

"You wanna know why I never gave you the time of day?" Bianca sneered. "Because you don't fucking _deserve_ my time. I see the way Dewey treats you. And Fitz and Owen and _half the damn school_. And you just _take_ _it_. And then you turn around and _blame me_ for the fact that you're too much of a fucking _loser_ to stick up for yourself. Do me a favor: _lose_ the vag, and come back to see me when you decide to be a _real_ man."

She left.

Adam stood; face white, body trembling.

_She doesn't know what she's talking about. There's _no way_ she could have meant it like that. She was just being a bitch_.

Still, his eyes were hot and he reached up to press his palm against his chest.

_Flat_.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply – for once eager to feel the pressure of the bandages over his spine; the familiar ache of his ribs.

_It's flat. Okay. Mostly flat. Hard to notice._

_Fuck._

_FUCK._

He took another ragged breath and ran his hands over the slight bulge under his shirt.

_She didn't touch you. You can't tell from looking at it._

_She was just being a bitch. It's okay._

He ran his fingertips along the smooth skin of his jawline.

_You're 15. Lots of guys don't have facial hair yet. Lots of guys don't _ever_ really grow any, it's just genetics..._

His hand fell to the front of his pants.

_Not every guy is hung, y'know? Plus, who the fuck is looking at your crotch anyway? Fuck them._

Still, his heart was pounding in his ears and his stomach was churning violently. He felt naked.

Exposed.

He couldn't go to school. Everyone would see, everyone would know, they would _know_ and they would hate him. They'd find him and smash his head open on a rock. They'd-

_Stop_, he told himself.

_Stopstopstop._

His breathing was ragged and strained. His face felt hot and his legs were weak.

He thought about the pills in his sock drawer.

But, no, if he went back he'd be late. He'd run into his mom and she would demand to know what was going on and then-

He crawled up the jungle gym, sinking down against the bars at the highest point. Rubbing the tips of his fingers against the hard metal until they ached.

"_Lose the vag_."

He shut his eyes tightly, slamming his fist into the metal, relishing the pain that exploded in his knuckles.

"Fuck her," he whispered, repulsed by the tears in his voice.

"_Weak little bitches..."_

He slammed his head back against the bars.

Without thinking he reached into his backpack. He felt around for a while jabbing his fingers on pencils and index cards before he found it.

_Bingo_.

He flicked the lighter, mesmerized by the familiar blue and yellow flicker. The heat built around his thumb and he bit his lip. With a quick glance around he ran his free hand through the flame once.

The heat brought him back to himself.

He dropped the lighter in his lap and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until spots of color swam before him.

It had been a long time since he hurt himself.

He was scared to start again.

Not afraid of the pain – that was the biggest draw. The sharp sting at first and the way the soreness stuck around for days at a time. Always there to remind you. _This is what I've done. I made this pain, and now it's mine to keep_. The release, the surety of it. He missed it with the wistfulness he imagined one might feel for a lover that left on uncertain terms.

But he was scared of what starting again would mean.

He hadn't hurt himself since he transitioned.

Since that day in the basement when he'd been so sure, so determined that there would be no need.

Since the way his mother screamed and sobbed and _"Oh my god, baby, what are you doing?"_

It wasn't easy. _God,_ no it wasn't easy. But here he was. For the first time in his life he was getting what he wanted – at least kind of.

He wondered if there was something wrong with him – that he wasn't really happy.

He was passing. Like, _every day_ he was passing. No one knew here – no one but his family. And his teachers called him "Mr. Torres" and when the rec teacher asked for "gentlemen on this side, ladies on this side" he stood with the gentlemen and it was _normal_. He was finally living as male and he knew there were tons of guys out there that would _kill_ for this but still...

Maybe there was something wrong with him

Like, really wrong with him.

Maybe his brain was as fucked as his body and he was just _incapable_ of feelings things the way normal people did.

Because sometimes he looked at the people around him and felt miles away. They would laugh or smile and he would just stand there; empty and removed from everything.

Those were the best times to burn or to cut or to slam his head into a wall because, hell, at least then he could feel something.

He flicked the lighter on and off several times.

He hadn't burned himself in a long time.

Because at first he felt like there hadn't been any need. In the beginning of transition he'd just felt so good to be living as male. Most of the school didn't seem to give a shit. His friends were almost universally supportive. And Patrick and those guys were dicks, sure; but they were dicks before, too. And the things they said tore him to pieces sometimes, sure; but then his friends would punch him in the arm and Laura would kiss his chin and squeeze his fingers and it was easier.

It wasn't perfect, but it was better than anything that had ever come before.

Then things went to hell.

But here he was; rebuilt for the second time.

And no matter what he tried he couldn't get that feeling back; even though his parents had been getting better, even though he was stealth here.

He felt like Sisyphus – every time he thought he would be rid of his burdens, they'd come back full force and he'd be right back where he started.

He knew there was a difference between depression and dysphoria.

He knew he suffered from both.

He knew the pills and the therapist were supposed to help.

Knowing didn't make it any easier. Knowing didn't make him feel better.

His biggest worry was having his mother find out.

He'd broken her, the first time.

He hated himself for it.

But he'd broken her, and if she caught him slipping back into bad habits he didn't know _what_ she'd do.

And there was a part of him that was scared that it would be like giving up.

He hadn't hurt himself since transition. Discovering his history of SI was part of what moved his mother to accept him as transgender – at least to accept the fact that he wanted to explore transition. He was scared that if she found out he was self-harming again that it would somehow de-legitimatize his maleness.

He rolled his shoulders, slipping the lighter back into his backpack and burying his face in his hands.

Maybe it was ridiculous.

It would probably be a good idea to call Dr. Scott when he got home from school.

Or maybe he would go to Eli's and get drunk again.

With a sigh he pushed himself up off the ground. He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

If he ran, he might be able to make it to school before the end of first period.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

By the time the final bell rang, Adam's mood wasn't much improved.

The oppressive strain of anxiety against his ribcage has eased slightly. Bianca hadn't looked at him once during Recreation. But, then again, neither had Clarence Dewey. In fact, no one seemed to really make any moves on him all day. Owen had called him gay in the halls, once, but that was becoming increasingly normal and Adam didn't even really blink at the insult anymore.

In a weird, fucked up way, being ignored kind of helped.

The very first time he came to school with his first short haircut and Drew's baggy hand-me-downs he'd been the object of far more attention than he'd ever wanted.

Going through the school day relatively invisible had set him at ease.

Bianca's earlier comments still stung but he'd brooded on them enough to accept them at face-value.

It was a shitty, hurtful thing to say, but that's all it had been.

There was no deeper meaning beyond the fact that she was trying to hurt him.

Still, the encounter left a bad taste in his mouth.

He never wanted to see her again.

Or he wanted to go and find her and pull his heart from his chest and show her all the things he'd been trying to say at the park but could never quite articulate.

Or he wanted to apologize.

Or he wanted to just stop giving a fuck.

He slammed his locker shut with a groan wishing that he could turn his brain off for an hour.

_Yeah. Not giving a fuck would be pretty good._

"Adam!" Clare's voice floated across the hall.

"Yeah?" he turned around, pressing his back into the metal of his locker, pulling his backpack against his chest.

"Eli wanted to see if you'd come with us to The Dot."

"Why?" watching Clare throw herself at Eli while he acted like a dick and ignored her wasn't on the top of Adam's To Do list after such a shitty day.

"It'd be a good idea to get started on the Shakespeare presentation for Dawes' class," Clare reminded him. "It's due in a week."

"Shit," Adam whispered. "Yeah. Okay. We leaving now?"

Clare nodded. "Yep, c'mon."

Adam slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed her sluggishly.

"I'll only be able to stick around for an hour today," Clare informed him. "The little kids are putting on a play at my church today, I volunteered to help out backstage. But we should still have enough time to work out a decent concept, and I can get started writing it today or tomorrow."

"Cool," Adam said, barely listening.

Bianca was leaning up against her locker, some loser with big hands and an awful haircut was bending down to whisper something to her. She smacked his chest and pushed him back, but with a great deal more ferocity than most girls Adam had observed.

Underneath her bored smile Adam saw a note of unease.

It made his stomach clench.

He looked away and followed Clare out the doors.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"That's my dad," said Clare, looking up from a text. "Sorry, guys. I have to get going."

"Okay," Eli said, rising to hug her goodbye. "See you tomorrow, Clare."

"Adam?" she prodded gently as she turned to go.

"Hmm?" he asked absently, still staring resolutely at the table between them.

"Um, bye," she said awkwardly, with a small wave of her hand.

"Oh, you're leaving?" he blinked, snapping back to reality.

"Yep," she nodded, looking at him oddly.

"Okay, bye," he stood hugging her briefly and following her with his eyes as she walked out of the cafe.

"Alright, so, what's your deal today?" Eli asked bluntly as soon as she was out of earshot.

"What are you talking about?" Adam knew playing dumb was futile, but some part of him wasn't prepared to give Eli what he wanted right away.

"Why are you acting like someone killed your dog?" Eli asked. He paused, then, frowning. "Wait, your dog didn't die, did it?"

Adam shook his head. "We don't have a dog. My mom won't let us. They're too messy."

Eli rolled his eyes. "Your mom is a she-demon."

Adam shrugged, drawing patterns on the table with the condensation from his soda.

"Okay, so we've ruled out dog-related tragedy," Eli continued drolly. "So, what is your damage, exactly?"

Adam scowled. "I'm not allowed to just be miserable sometimes?"

"Hey, man, by all means – be a sorry little bitch. No fucking problem, but when you're completely ignoring Clare and I, I'm gonna call you out on it."

"I wasn't completely ignoring you."

"Okay, what play did we pick for the Shakespeare thing?"

Adam bit his lip. "Romeo and Juliet?"

Eli scowled. "No fair. You only guessed that right because I couldn't convince Clare to do _Titus Andronicus_."

Adam's face twisted. "Oh, _God_, why would you want to do that one?"

Eli smirked and shrugged. "C'mon, you don't think it'd be interesting to see Clare handling that one? She hadn't read it so I had to describe it to her. You should have been paying attention, the look on her face was _priceless_."

Adam shook his head. "You are one sick puppy, Goldsworthy."

Eli opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a voice in the doorway.

"Does anyone know who drives the, er, hearse outside?" asked a rather nervous looking boy.

Eli stood up, staring him down warily. "Yeah."

"There are a couple guys in the back, looks like they're messing with it," the boy announced.

"Messing with it like how?" asked the guy at the counter. _Peter_, Adam was pretty sure.

"I don't know, man, I just figured I should let you know,' the boy said, nodding toward Eli.

"Thanks," Eli said darkly, grinding his teeth together and gathering his messenger bag.

"You want me to call the cops, bro?" Peter asked.

"No, man," Eli said, walking toward the door and gesturing for Adam to follow him. "I got it."

Adam reached into his pocket and quickly threw a couple bills onto the table for a tip, nodding to Peter and the boy who'd tipped them off as he exited.

He tried quell the rolling in his stomach. He was worried, of course, about the guys messing with the car and what they'd do when Eli confronted them.

But, maybe even more than that, he was worried about the dark look that passed over Eli's face.

He was worried what it meant for the guys stupid enough to fuck around with Morty.

When they got to the rear parking lot and Adam recognized the trio draped casually over Morty's hood, his stomach dropped.

Fitz was there swinging a set of keys around his finger, grinning to show teeth. Owen next to him, smirking stupidly.

Bianca standing a few feet off, looking disinterested and annoyed.

"Hey!" Eli shouted, fury reddening his cheeks and neck. "What the _fuck_?"

A flash of nervousness passed over Fitz's face, but he recovered smoothly. "Sup, Goldsworthy?"

Adam stared, slack-jawed at the long jagged scratch that ran the length of Morty's body that, miraculously, Eli didn't seem to notice yet.

"What are looking at, fag?" Fitz sneered.

"I... I'm not sure," Adam said, words falling past his lips effortlessly. He felt a growing horror rising in his stomach as his brained raced to catch up with his mouth. "I mean – bipedal, humanoid; I wanna go with Neanderthal, but evidence shows they posessed a-a certain level of intelligence..."

Bianca barked out a laugh. Fitz looked insulted and Owen look confused.

"Did you just call me stupid, you dumb fuck?" Fitz demanded, stepping forward.

"What the fuck did you do to my car?" Eli exploded, seeing the damage now that Fitz was out of the way.

"Oh, you like that?" Fitz grinned. "Thought we'd detail it for y-"

Eli flew forward, landing a punch on Fitz's jaw. Fitz stumbled backward from the unexpected blow, hands coming up to cup his chin.

Owen stepped forward taking a swing at Eli. The smaller boy managed to avoid the blow but lost his balance, leaving him open for Fitz to tackle.

"Fuck!" Eli shouted as his back hit the ground.

Adam's eyes widened.

_Oh shit._

Fitz and Eli struggled on the ground, slamming each other into the pavement. Kicking and cursing and spitting.

_Ohshitohshitoshit._

"Ah!" Eli shouted in pain as Fitz threw a hard left that connected with his nose.

Adam threw himself forward. Owen intercepted him, a beefy arm around his neck, lifting him off the ground and swinging him away from the fight. Adam panicked, reacting badly and swinging out with all his limbs. His left heel connected with Owen's crotch, causing the bigger boy to groan and drop him.

Adam turned around, delivering another hard kick to Owen's chest before turning back and throwing his body against Fitz.

Fitz made a shocked noise as Adam's sudden weight forced him off Eli and onto the ground. Adam struggled to stay on top of him, fingers scrambling, nails scraping against Fitz's arms and neck as he fought to keep the upper hand.

"Get the fuck off me!" Fitz demanded, trying to get his arms up. He knocked Adam's lips against his teeth with the back of his hand, filling his mouth with the sharp taste of blood.

Adam coughed when Fitz's elbow connected with his chest, blood flying from his lips as he sputtered, bringing the side of his fist clumsily down on Fitz's face.

"Hey!" Bianca's voice cut through the haze of pain and panic. "Someone called the cops!"

Adam felt a strong grip on the back of his hoodie and then a sick moment of weightlessness before his tailbone hit the ground _hard_. He swung around wildly, blood flying from his lip ready to throw more frantic punches – shocked to find it was Eli that got him off of Ftiz.

"Let's go," Eli said, helping him off the ground and guiding him into Morty's front passenger seat.

Everything hurt.

Adam sank back into the seat, chest heaving.

Alive.

On fire.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

They pulled up in front of Eli's house.

His nose was bloody and when he breathed there was a faint whistling. He didn't seem to fazed, by the whole ordeal.

Adam sat motionless staring down at his raw knuckles.

"What the fuck did we just do?" he asked slowly.

Eli gave him that slow, burning smirk and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

"We kicked Fitz and Owen's dumb asses."

"Holy shit," Adam breathed, allowing himself to bask in the pride in Eli's voice.

Eli chuckled. "How do you feel, man?"

"I don't know," Adam admitted, flexing his hands, enjoying the ache. "I... good, I think."

"Good?"

"Fucking awesome."

"Fuck yeah," Eli grinned, slapping his cheek gently, angling his head so that he could observe him better.

"Looks like he popped you in the mouth," Eli murmured absently, running a knuckle across Adam's sore lip. Adam winced and tried to move back, but Eli's firm hand on his cheek kept him in place. "Does it hurt?"

"Kind of," Adam swallowed. His heart was pounding.

The trickle of blood from Eli's nose ran across his lips and down his chin. Adam wanted to touch it with his fingertips.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

He exhaled shakily and pulled away from Eli.

"I'd put some ice on it," Eli suggested, killing the engine.

"Yeah," Adam nodded vacantly.

"Coming in?" Eli asked, gesturing toward the house.

"Is your brother home?" Adam asked. He didn't quite know why the thought of running into Garrett again made him so nervous, but it did.

Eli frowned, glancing down at his watch. "He should be at work right now."

"Okay," Adam said. "I'm gonna call my mom first."

Eli shrugged. "Fine. Lock the doors when you get out, I'll meet you inside."

The phone call was quick and painless. Adam was staying at his friend Eli's house to do homework. He would be home by curfew. No, he probably wouldn't be home for dinner, so don't worry about it.

For the first time when he walks into Eli's house, it's not dark.

He sees Eli lingering in the doorway to what Adam's pretty sure is the living room. There's an unfamiliar voice. A woman. Adam steps forward slowly.

Eli caught him from the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly, shaking it and mouthing something Adam couldn't quite make out.

"Who's that?" came the woman's voice. "Is Garrett home?"

Eli grimaced, catching Adam's eye. He gave a subtle shake of his head.

Adam bit his lip, hanging back in the hallway, unsure.

"Elijah, is your brother home?" the woman asked again, sharply.

Eli hesitated again.

'Do you want me to go?' Adam mouthed to him silently.

"No," Eli said after a moment, turning to face his mother. "Just a friend."

"Goddammit," she cursed. "Whoever you are, skank, get the hell out of my house!"

"_Mom_," Eli rebuked, looking stunned.

He heard the clinking of glasses and shuffling from the room.

"I'm serious, you hussy," the sound of heavy, uneven footfalls on the wood floor.

A woman came through the doorway, pushing right past Eli's feeble attempts to hold her back.

She looked like she could have been pretty, once; blonde, and stacked, with vivid green eyes.

But her hair was messy and wild; her eyes bloodshot; her body weighed down with the heaviness that alcoholics seem to carry.

"He's already gotten one of you kn-"

The words died on her lips as she stopped abruptly in front of Adam.

She stared at Adam, swaying and blinking slowly.

"Um," he cleared his throat. "Hey," his wave was short and awkward.

"Who the hell are you?" she slurred, turning quickly to Eli. "Who the hell is this?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "Mom, this is-"

"Adam Torres," Adam stepped forward, jerkily. He held out a hand to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goldsworthy."

She stared at him, lip curled. "Seriously, what the fuck is going on?"

"I _told you_," Eli said, stepping forward and grabbing her elbow harshly. "He's a friend of mine."

"Now, that _can't_ be true," she shot back, jerking out of his grasp. "You don't _have_ any friends."

Eli shrunk back as if struck, but recovered quickly; slipping back into his mask of indifference with aplomb.

"Just leave us the fuck alone," Eli demanded flatly – only the harsh nature of his words and the dangerous flash in his eyes betraying his true anger. "You're fucking drunk again."

She spun around violently. "Don't you fucking talk to me like that, Elijah!"

He opened his mouth to speak again but shut it just as quickly.

"You're my son, goddammit," she continued. "And I'll be _damned_ if I raised you on my own for _eleven fucking years_ now and have you speak to me like that."

Adam's cheeks were burning with embarrassment for intruding on such an... intimate family argument. His throat felt like sandpaper.

God, he just wanted to not be there.

"Just you _wait_ 'til your brother gets home," she said darkly, wagging a finger at him.

"Whatever," he sneered, grabbing Adam by the shoulder and pulling him toward the door.

"Make sure you use a rubber this time, Eli," Mrs. Goldsworthy taunted. "I just barely avoided becoming a grandmother, I don't need no faggot son with AIDS running around now."

Eli slammed the door.

When they got to the car he turned the music up as loud as it would go.

It hurt Adam's ears but he was grateful for the volume – it effectively quashed any chance of conversation.

Several songs later, Eli pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and killed the engine.

The silence was overwhelming.

"God, she is _such_ a bitch," Eli lamented, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel.

Adam stayed silent, twisting his sleeves and trying to think of words that wouldn't sound stupid or out of place in the situation.

"I'm sorry," Eli said after a moment. "I mean, that you had to be there for that."

"It's... it's okay," Adam said after a moment.

"No, it's _not_," Eli protested, bringing the side of his fist down on the steering wheel; the short, sharp blare of the horn rewarding his action. "It's not fucking okay, that was such..."

"No, really," Adam reassured him. "In fact, maybe I should be thanking you..."

Eli looked up, waiting for him to continue.

"I mean, now I feel a hell of a lot better about going home to _my mom_," he joked weakly.

Eli laughed.

The joke wasn't particularly funny, at least not by Adam's standards but something about Eli's cackle was infectious and he joined in.

Eli slung an arm around his shoulder, a strange desperate half-hug across the center console.

They laughed alone in the parking lot until the windows fogged and their throats ached.

* * *

**AN:** Okay! Here's the deal, guys - next chapter is very short comparatively so I don't think it's quite worth the week's wait. It's up as soon as I get 12 reviews on this one or in three days. Whatever comes first, I guess.

Lots of things happened this time! Someone bolder might call it action-packed! Did it give you feelings? TELL ME YOUR FEELINGS BECAUSE I REALLY CARE ABOUT THEM.

-Orange


	6. Ch5: Buried Myself Alive

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** Alright! You guys did it - 12 reviews in less than a day. Less than 12 hours, actually. Pretty nice.

Here's the chapter 6! It was originally part of chapter 7 but I felt like it was a bit awkward there, so...

Anyway, to the person who asked (I can't respond to un-signed reviews which is a shame because they're lovely just the same) cisgender basically means "not transgender." Google would be good for a more in-depth definition with context and why it's important to have a word that means "not transgender."

Also, you guys should totally check out the poll I put up on my profile. It's about Adam-pairings (since so many of you seem to be interested in that). It won't dictate anything in the story, per se, but it WOULD be extremely helpful for me to get an idea of where you guys are at.

**drevil99** and **TwistedRaver** beta'd this chapter and then they SLAYED A DRAGON.

**Warnings:** You're this far in, you should know about most of the awful things I do here by now. Nothing particularly bad in this chapter, though, I don't think...

* * *

Adam knew he was staring.

He didn't really care, though.

Class started ten minutes ago and Bianca hadn't so much glanced at him _once_.

It was almost like-

No.

She was _absolutely_ avoiding him.

Adam allowed himself a smirk and continued to stare, willing her eyes towards him.

At first he'd been nervous about seeing her. He kept replaying their fight in his mind. How cold it was at the park and the way her words had cut him so deep and the sneer that twisted her beautiful face into something cruel and ugly.

She told him he was weak. That he didn't stand up for himself.

She hated that, she'd said.

Hated _him,_ he'd been left to assume.

_What now, Bianca?_ He thought, eyes locked on her profile. _Do you hate me _more_ or less with my fist in Fitz's face?_

She'd been there, behind the Dot when Fitz and Owen decided to try to start something with Eli. She saw. No doubt, she saw; she was the one to break it up.

_Do you still think I'm weak?_

He thought about the fight.

His lip throbbed.

Oh, _God_, the fight.

Adam was no stranger to violence.

It was just that, up until yesterday, he'd been on the receiving end.

_Only_ on the receiving end.

He finally looked away from Bianca to cast his gaze on his bruised knuckles. He flexed them slowly, smiling at the sharp sting of pain the action caused. _God,_ the look on Fitz's face when Adam slammed his _fist _against the taller boy's cheek. The _noise_ Owen had made when Adam kicked him in the nuts.

He'd never felt anything quite like the surge of adrenaline he'd walked away with yesterday.

No skateboard trick, no kiss from a pretty girl; _nothing_ felt like yesterday.

It was so simple. So _primal_.

Fitz and Owen had come at him. But _he _was the one to walk off.

Sure, his chest ached twice as badly today; the lingering pain from the blow Fitz had landed on his sternum stacked painfully on top of the pressure of his bandages. And, yeah, he'd been interrogated by his mother last night (thank god, she bought the dodgeball story).

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall; flexing his hands again and again; retreating back into yesterday. Wrapping himself up in that feeling of triumph that was so alien to him.

"I _said_, fuck off," Bianca's sharp voice brought him out of his reverie.

Clarence Dewey had his hand around her forearm. Bianca was leaning as far away as she could get, a disgusted look curling her lip.

"C'mon, baby," Dewey murmured slimily.

Adam grimaced, glancing around the room for the teacher.

_Of course_ Menard had stepped out for his "secret" cigarette break in the faculty bathroom.

Adam stood up from the wall, slowly.

_Fuck_.

"Get off me, you fucking bastard," Bianca snapped, sharp note of panic in her voice as she tore herself loose from Dewey's grasp. She took a few quick steps toward the door, but the bully followed undeterred.

"What, I'm supposed to think you're frigid now?" Dewey mocked. "You were practically _begging _for my cock last week-"

"You shut your _fucking_ mouth," Bianca whirred around, finger in his face. "I _swear_-"

Dewey grabbed her hand, pulling her body against his. "_What_?"

Adam's fury bubbled up his chest. It made his head swim and his stomach churn violently.

"Hey," he called, blatantly ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that said this was a _bad idea_.

Their heads snapped toward him.

Dewey looked at first shocked, then amused, then offended.

Bianca just scowled.

"The _fuck_ do you want, Torres?" Dewey spat.

Adam's fists curled at his sides. He wanted to vomit. Or to run away.

Actually, mostly he wanted to hit Dewey right in his big, idiot mouth.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Adam demanded, not having a chance to think about the words before they slipped past his lips.

It was then he noticed that the class had fallen dead silent.

Everyone was watching them.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

Adam swallowed and forced his eyes to remained locked on Dewey's.

"Excuse me?" Dewey's voice was a dangerous whisper as he stepped forward threateningly.

Adam closed his eyes, taking a slow deep breath before looking back up at Dewey.

"I want to know what the hell you think you're doing," Adam repeated, voice steady despite the rapid speed of his heartbeat and _God_, he really felt like throwing up, "putting your hands on a girl like that."

"I think you're confused, bro," Clarence Dewey shot a sidelong glance at Bianca. "That ain't no girl, that's a fucking _slut."_

Adam sneered. "You're fucking _pathetic, _man."

"Yeah?" he asked stepping forward. His breath was warm and smelt like cinnamon gum and weed.

"Get out of my face," Adam ordered quietly, feeling his whole body tense.

"Or _what-_?"

Adam raised his arms up, shoving Dewey roughly.

The larger boy stumbled back a few steps, a look of shock briefly taking over his features.

A loud series of murmurs rose from those in the class that were watching.

Dewey looked up; face morphing from open shock to a cruel smile.

"Oh?"

He shot forward, shoving Adam back with strength he didn't anticipate.

Adam was on the ground before he knew what was happening; elbows banging painfully against the wood floor, air knocked from his lungs by the force of Dewey's hands against his chest. The pressure of the bandages seemed almost unbearable but he fought to keep the pain off his face and to normalize his breathing.

Dewey stood over him, sneering.

"What now, boy?"

_Now you give up. You go back to the corner and pray to _God_ that he doesn't come after you outside of class now. Christ, how could you be this damn stupid? What the fuck are you trying to prove? This guy could _murder_ you, you fucking idiot._

Adam pushed himself up from the floor shakily.

Dewey shoved him again, palms crashing into Adam's shoulders viciously.

Adam stumbled backward but kept himself upright.

Dewey stepped closer so that they were nose to nose again; emphasizing his height.

Adam held his gaze defiantly.

The tension in the room rose palpably.

Then the door cracked open.

"Hey!" Menard called, clapping his hands rapidly. "Break it up, break it up."

Dewey rolled his eyes and took a step back.

The room was utterly silent.

"_What_ is going on here?" Menard demanded.

"Nothing," Adam said quietly.

Menard cast him a doubtful glance but moved on after a moment. "Okay! Everyone pair up! Remember, today is the day we start our unit on Ballroom dancing! Keep that in mind when choosing your partners."

Adam's gaze drifted to Bianca. She stared at him, one arm drawn around her midsection, as if shielding herself.

He took a couple quick steps and stopped in front of her.

"Bianca."

_What the hell are you doing?_

"What?" she frowned.

"I choose you as my partner," he said simply.

"What are you, grade seven?" she mocked.

"Hey, hey, wait," Dewey stepped up behind him, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "She's dancing with _me_."

Adam stepped out from under his grip without so much as a second glance. He held his hand out to her. "C'mon."

She hesitated, eyes darting between the two of them.

"_Bianca_," Dewey started.

She grabbed Adam's hand and allowed him to pull her to a different part of the room.

"Don't get any ideas, Torres," she whispered.

Adam rolled his eyes.

"Let's just get this out of the way," he started, turning to look her in the eye. "We _both_ know you only chose me because I'm considerably more well-washed than Clarence."

Bianca laughed shortly.

"Just watch your paws, Casanova."

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

When the bell rang Adam slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the door. He was stopped by a hand on his elbow.

He turned around, expecting an irate Clarence Dewey; shocked to find Bianca De Sousa holding him back; lips pursed as if she had a mouthful of something sour.

He allowed himself to be led into a dark corner of the classroom.

"Look," she started. "I don't need to be fucking _rescued_, so if _that's_ your angle-"

Adam laughed bitterly, holding a hand up to as if it would stop the flow of words from her mouth. "_God, _seriously?"

She scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Does it ever get a little hard to see, Bianca?" Adam asked bitterly. "I mean, with your head up your ass all the time?"

She stared at him for a long tense moment.

"Man, what the _fuck_ is your deal, Torres?"

"Look," he said, taking a step back from her, "I wasn't trying to '_rescue' _you or whatever bullshit you seem to think. Clarence Dewey is an _asshole_. Wanna know something? You were _right_, yesterday. I let everyone walk all over me."

She was staring at him in raptly, only the ghost of her usual disdain apparent on her face. He straightened his shoulders, basking in the hot glow of her attention.

"I'm done with that," he breathed.

"Whatever," she said, shaking her head and stepping past him.

"Wanna know something else?" he asked over his shoulder, not turning to look at her.

When the clack of her footsteps on the ground ceased he knew she was listening.

"You're kind of an asshole, too," he continued casually. "My problems don't mean shit to you. _I_ don't mean shit to you. That's fine. I thought about that, today. I thought I could try being like you – try not caring."

He turned slowly and took a step toward her.

"It didn't work. 'Cause, see, I _do_ give a shit," he said. "It's not called 'rescuing' you or anything like that. It's called being a _decent person_."

She glared at him as he brushed past her to walk out the door.

"You might want to try it sometime," he tossed over his shoulder.

He paused outside the door, breathing deeply, trying to process the whirlwind of emotion muddling his thoughts.

It didn't feel quite like yesterday.

But it still felt sort of like winning.

* * *

**AN:** I don't know. I worry about getting Bianca right - think I've still got some work to do. Know who DOESN'T suck at Bianca? **PeachesNaughtyCream**. Go read things she writes - they're much, much better.

Also! Please review! I like to know what you think about the words I put here!

-Orange


	7. Ch6: If You Hate Your Friends

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** Okay, okay. This one's a week late. I am a loser. I know that. Skip to the story now if you want to be spared my pathetic excuses. I try to write with at least one chapter completed as a reserve. But then I sort of hit a wall with chapter 7 and work got crazy so I haven't been able to finish that one yet. BUT I missed a week and I have been making slow progress, so here's chapter 6. Hopefully 7 will be finished this time next week so we can get back to the regular schedule.

The intended title for this chapter was "If You Hate Your Friends, You're Not Alone" (a song by Pretty Girls Make Graves) but it was too long. Replaced by "It's Complicated" by ADTR. Every chapter title has been a song, actually! If you can name the band you win... probably nothing! Maybe I'll reference something of your choosing in the next chapter! Or something!

**drevil99** and **TwistedRaver** beta'd this chapter in between perfecting space travel and beating the mole people back into the cold abyss beneath the earth's crust.

**Warnings:** You're this far in, you should know about most of the awful things I do here by now. Nothing particularly bad in this chapter, though, I don't think...

* * *

Adam sat outside, near the trees – back against the fence, sandwich in his lap, headphones over his ears. He would never understand why more people didn't eat outside. It was a little chilly, sure – but the color of the sky and the rustle of the trees made it absolutely worth it.

Lunch had started nearly ten minutes ago and he hadn't seen Clare or Eli.

It was a bit strange, but he didn't really feel like getting up and looking for them.

He closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the fence.

"Adam!" Clare's voice rose above the music in his ears.

He cracked open one eye slowly. "Hey."

She smiled, and held out a hand to him. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"Eating lunch," he shrugged, slipping his headphones off. "Waiting for you and Eli."

"Eli didn't make it today," Clare informed him. "Come eat lunch inside with me."

"It's nice out," Adam protested although he was already sliding his sandwich back into the brown paper bag his mother had packed for him.

"C'mon," she smiled radiantly.

He slipped his hand into hers, rising as she pulled him forward.

"Your lip..."

She trailed off gaze darting between his eyes and his lip.

"Yeah," he said awkwardly; acutely aware of how close they were standing and how he hadn't let go of her hands yet. He swallowed hard when the scent of her perfume hit his nose.

"What happened?" she breathed.

He shrugged, squeezing her hands and smiling.

She led him inside, pinkies intertwined.

The serene smile slipped from his face when they stopped in front of her table.

"Hi Adam," Alli Bhandari greeted him politely.

"Uh, hey," he waved shortly, sitting across from her. Clare sat next to him. If he scooted over just a _bit _more he could feel her thighs against his jeans.

He laid his sandwich out on the table and forced himself to remain in his place.

"Where's Eli anyway?" he asked after a moment.

"He texted me earlier," Clare started. "Said he wasn't feeling well."

"Oh," Adam frowned. Eli had seemed fine when he dropped Adam off at home last night. He decided to keep his mouth shut, though – it was quite obvious that Eli had plenty of things he didn't want Clare to know.

"Don't worry, he's still going to be meeting us at the park after school today for the project," Clare continued. "I checked."

"Project?" Adam echoed, confused.

"Yeah," Clare's brows furrowed adorably. "I finished writing the script for the Shakespeare project Ms. Dawes assigned. I told Eli to tell you last night."

"Oh," Adam shifted uncomfortably. "He must have forgot."

Clare shot him a panicked look. "You can make it, right? We'll need at least three people!"

"Chill, chill," Adam put a hand on her arm and smiled reassuringly. "I'll be there."

She smiled brightly.

The loud sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them.

Adam turned around.

"Andrew?" he frowned.

"Uh, hey," Drew said, standing awkwardly behind him, tray in hand.

"What's up?" he asked, wondering if something had gone wrong.

"Nothing, just thought I'd drop by," Drew said, surveying the table cautiously.

"Oh," Adam tapped his fingers against the table nervously. "Okay. Um, Drew this is Clare Edwards – Clare, my brother Drew."

"Hi," she waved.

"'Sup?"

"And this is-"

"Alli Bhandari," Drew finished, staring at the girl, face unreadable.

Adam's brow creased. "You've met?"

"You could say that," Alli scowled.

"Um, Adam?" Drew shifted nervously. "Think I could talk to you outside or something?"

Adam paused shooting a look to Clare. She shrugged helplessly.

"Sure," he said slowly, rising from the table; gathering his lunch for the second time. "I'll catch you later, Clare?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Meet me at the zen garden after school. Bye, Adam."

He waved and followed Drew out of the cafeteria.

"Were you telling the truth?" Drew asked once they were alone.

Adam shot him a look over his shoulder. "What?"

"Last night," Drew frowned, grabbing Adam's backpack and slowing them both to a stop. "About your face."

Adam looked out across the parking lot and gritted his teeth.

"It didn't really happen in rec, did it," Drew pressed, grabbing Adam by the shoulders and turning him around to look him in the eye. "I mean, I know you're not doing a dodgeball unit. You were just complained about starting ballroom this week."

Adam winced and tried to pull from his brother's grip, but Drew's hold just tightened.

"What _happened_, Adam?" Drew's voice was low and serious.

Adam sighed, and ran his tongue along his swollen lip. "Drew, it's honestly not a big deal."

"_Fuck_," Drew cursed quietly, letting him go and tugging his hair. "Adam _what the fuck_?"

"Chill out," Adam hissed. "Why is this such a big deal to you?"

"_Seriously_, Adam?" Drew scoffed. "If someone's messing with you I _need to know_."

"Why?" Adam demanded. "So you can go make a big fucking deal out of it? I can handle myself, Andrew."

"Yeah," Drew shot back. "You sure proved that last time."

Adam winced, taking a step back from his brother.

Drew stared at him hard a moment before deflating. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Adam shook his head. "Whatever."

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Drew promised anxiously. "After last time, I just..."

Adam's shoulders tensed. "Last time won't ever happen again, Andrew."

"You can't _know that_, Adam," Drew whispered helplessly.

"But I _do_," Adam vowed. "I can _handle_ this."

"No you can't!" Drew erupted. "You _can't_ you're just..."

"Say it," Adam demanded darkly, fists clenched tightly.

Drew looked around helplessly. "Adam..."

"Say it, Andrew."

"I know you're a guy between the ears, okay?" Drew said, looking frantic. "I _know_ that. You _know_ that I know that and you know I back you 100% an-"

"_Say it_."

"Physically, you're still a girl, okay?" Drew said, tugging his hair. "They can _really_ hurt you, Adam."

Adam shook his head slowly.

"You don't understand," Drew grabbed his shoulders. "You didn't _see_ yourself there, in the hospital after..."

"I didn't need to! I fucking _lived it_ Andrew!" Adam responded viciously. "I didn't have to _see_ what they did to me, I fucking _felt it_."

Drew flinched. "I know... I know, I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I couldn't protect you. I _should have_ protected you," Drew said. Adam was shocked to hear tears in his voice. "God, I'm the big brother, that's what I'm supposed to do."

"So you're going to make up for it by suffocating me _now_?" Adam fixed him with a hard look. "I get that you feel bad. You really shouldn't, though. There was nothing you could have done. It happened. It was months ago. I'm over it."

"Well, I'm _not_," Drew protested.

"Then I'm sorry," Adam shot back, "but that's not really my problem, Drew."

Drew looked down at him, hurt. "Adam..."

"Look," Adam tugged his beanie lower over his head, "I said I can handle it. You've got to trust that I can handle it, okay?"

"I just-"

"_Drew – _do you trust me?"

Drew took a deep breath. "... Yes."

"Good," Adam nodded. "Then this conversation is over, okay?"

"Okay," Drew sighed. "Fine."

He paused casting Adam another lingering look before trotting off back toward the cafeteria; head down, shoulders tense.

Adam watched him go and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

"That was amazing!" Clare gushed; cheeks pink, chest heaving.

"See? You got this, I _told you_," Adam grinned wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. Her face went into the crook of his neck, soft breath tickling him. He released her after a moment, beaming proudly. "I told you."

"I know!" Clare squealed. "Can I do it again?"

Adam laughed reaching down and picking up the skateboard.

"I don't see anyone stopping you," he handed her the board, steadying her as she climbed back on.

Adam settled back against the bench as he watched her skate cautiously around the pavement. It was pretty cold out but he was still sort of surprised that no one seemed to be out at the park – school had only ended about half an hour ago. But Adam was getting tired of always questioning good fortune, so he let the thoughts drift out of his head and relaxed watching as Clare's confidence grew with every minute she spent on the board.

"Hey," he called, causing her to glance back at him distractedly. "Maybe I should be filming this!"

"Are you kidding?" she wobbled slightly, not quite coordinated enough to carry on a conversation and skate at the same time yet. "I don't think Juliet ever hopped on a skateboard."

"I thought we were doing our own version of it?" he challenged. "Besides, this is gonna end up as some b-roll in your documentary."

"My documentary?" she asked, amusement painting her pretty features.

"Yeah," Adam said, picking up the camera and turning it on. "The one they make about your life after you revolutionize the world of competitive girl skating."

Clare rolled her eyes but her smile was radiant. She skated toward him and hopped off shakily.

"Charmer," she accused, sticking her tongue out at the camera.

"Me?" he laughed. "_Never_."

"Whatever, Adam Torres," she wagged her finger at him playfully. "I'm on to you."

"Is that so?" Adam challenged, following her determinedly with the camera even as she dodged and hid her face playfully. "What, exactly, do you think you're onto, Ms. Edwards?"

"You're a _flirt_," she accused, smiling widely.

"Am _not_," he denied.

She raised her eyebrow at him and smirked.

"Okay," he conceded, dropping the camera from his shoulder. He took a step closer to her, breathing in to steady himself and lifting one hand to brush her fingertips. "Maybe sometimes."

He saw her draw a shallow breath as her eyes rose to his.

"So you admit it, then?" she asked, voice soft.

"Well, yeah," he whispered. "But only for really special girls."

She laughed, turning away from him and trying to hide her blush with her hands.

"God," she giggled. "You're doing it again!"

Adam set the camera on the table and trotted after her, pulling her into a backwards hug.

"Oh, c'mon," he teased. "You know you love it."

She turned in his arms and smiled warmly. "You're sweet, Adam."

He swallowed hard, staring at her lips. "Sweet, eh?"

"Yeah," she whispered, blinking slowly at him. "Sweet."

He took a shaky breath and squeezed her a bit harder. He moved his face closer to hers by a fraction.

She didn't move away.

His eyes drifted back to her lips; full and pink and so... close...

"This seems to be a pattern," Eli's sudden voice cause Clare to jump away from him like she'd been burned.

Adam saw her cast a guilty look behind him, but couldn't bring himself to turn and face Eli.

"I mean – I tell you guys to meet me someplace and when I show you you're acting awfully... cozy," he continued dryly. "Something you two want to tell me?"

"No!" Clare rushed, stepping past Adam. "It's not even... I mean, really..."

Adam sighed and forced his body to relax. He turned slowly. "Hey, Eli."

Eli fixed him with a dark look. "'Sup?"

Adam shrugged.

"Clare," Eli breathed looking at her tensely.

"Hi," she stepped forward tentatively, taking his hands in hers. "How are you?"

Eli shrugged. "Could be better."

Adam pushed his hurt feelings out of the way and re-evaluated Eli. His nose was looking a little better than last night; a bit red, a bit swollen, but nothing horrible. He was paler than normal, though; the dark bags under his eyes only exaggerating the fact.

There was a sickeningly familiar twist in the corner of his mouth. Not his usual smirk. It was the distinct constant wince of someone in pain and desperate not to show it.

Adam swallowed and stared hard at Eli, but the older boy was still fixated on Clare.

"Eli," Adam called.

Eli glanced up wordlessly.

_Are you okay?_

_What happened?_

_Are you okay?_

The words stuck in his throat.

He coughed and fidgeted restlessly. "Uh, did you and Clare work out how we were going to do this?"

There was a moment of tense silence. Adam fought not to squirm under the weight of Eli's intense gaze.

"It's basically the part in Act 5, Scene 4 where Romeo discovers Juliet's body," Clare's soft voice did nothing to clear the tension. "You know the one, right?"

Adam nodded, diverting his attention to her. "Yeah."

"Well, in our version the poison takes a few minutes to kick in."

"Oh."

"So, Juliet wakes up before Romeo dies."

"Okay, so..."

"They could share a final kiss," Eli interrupts.

Clare looks over at him, naked hopefulness blatant on her face.

"O-obviously, I'll be Juliet," she says, a little breathlessly. "Who's going to be my Romeo?"

"I will," Eli says almost before she finishes speaking. He holds Adam's gaze for a long moment.

Adam tore his eyes away, forcing his gaze to the ground.

"I mean, since I know the material so well," Eli explained after a moment.

"Yeah," Adam bit out, only mildly surprised by the coldness of his own voice. "What are you _not_ the expert on?"

He lifted the camera back to his shoulder.

"Whenever you guys are ready."

They ran through the scene a couple times – stopping only twice when Clare and Eli couldn't contain their laughter.

Adam felt his stomach turning throughout but kept the camera steady and his faxe an impassive mask.

"Romeo! You drank the poisonous high-fructose cola beverage! _No!_"

_Someone's over-acting_, Adam thought bitterly, rolling his eyes.

Then it happened.

They leaned in close. Eli pushed a lock of curly hair behind her ear, his hand slipped up her arm. She raised her hands and brushed her fingertips against his chin.

Their lips touched once, twice; tentatively.

_God_, it was so... _gentle._

Adam shut his eyes, struggling not to vomit or shudder or scream or throw the camera down and stomp off.

Eli's hands cupped her face more fully. Her arms slipped around his back, drawing him nearer.

He wanted to look away.

Desperately.

But he couldn't seem to find the strength for it.

After several long moments Eli pulled away and slumped backwards onto the table.

Clare stood for a moment, stunned. Adam saw Eli's foot move to subtly tap her leg.

"Um, star-crossed not for long! I will see you in the afterlife, Romeo," Clare recited. She finished the scene – cheesily offing herself with Eli's pocket-knife.

"Cut."

"Should we do another take?" Clare asked shyly.

"I don't know," Eli smirked, turning to Adam. "What did you think of that one, Adam? Think we got it?"

Adam shrugged dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Maybe one more try, then," Eli's voice was sugary-sweet and all kinds of cruel.

Adam hated the heat gathering behind his eyes. He shook his head desperately.

_God, if I fucking _cry_ here..._

"Actually," he said numbly, "I think that's all we can do today, guys."

"Why?" Clare at least had the decency to look embarrassed by her eagerness.

"Battery's dying," Adam lied.

"That's too bad," Eli cooed, rising from the table.

"Yeah," Adam said. "Listen, I just remembered – I have to go-"

"That so?" Eli smirked triumphantly.

"_Yes_," Adam hissed, hating the pressure mounting in his chest. "I need to see my mom off – she's leaving on a business trip tonight."

It was only half a lie – she was leaving tomorrow morning.

"You can't manage a few more minutes?" Eli questioned, putting a heavy hand on Adam's shoulder. "Clare and I would love to have you for a bit longer."

_Clare and I_.

_Ugh._

"No, man, I really have to go," Adam lifted Eli's hand from his shoulder and grabbed his backpack off the ground.

"Are you taking the camera with you?" Clare questioned.

"Is that cool?" Adam asked, not bothering to look up. "I thought I'd edit it tonight so we wouldn't have to worry about it anymore."

"Yeah," Eli said. "That's fine."

Adam stepped onto the skateboard.

"As long as you're sure we got it, Adam," Eli continued, stepping in front of him and looking him directly in the eye. He wrapped his arm around Clare's shoulders. "We _got it_, Adam?"

_Why don't you just go the extra mile and piss on her, while you're at it, Eli._

Adam looked away, disgusted.

"Got it, Eli."

"Good."

"I'll see you guys later."

He took off in the direction of home doing his best to ignore the burning in his eyes.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

He was about three blocks from home when he heard the car pull up.

Immediately, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

His throat felt dry.

He fought the impulse to look back at the car. He could tell from the sound of the engine that it had slowed and was crusing just behind him.

_Oh God._

_Oh fuck._

He winced, taking a deep breath through his nose.

_Okay. Chill out._

Think_ Adam._

His free hand fell to his pocket and he pulled out his cell phone. He found Drew's number and hit it immediately.

After four rings he started to get worried that no one would pick up.

Then-

"Hey, sorry, I left my phone in my room..."

Adam let out a relieved sigh.

"What's up?" Drew asked.

"Um," Adam swallowed, listening closely to the car that was still just out of range of vision. "Not much. You?"

"Your voice is weird," Drew said. "What's going on? Where are you?"

Adam glanced up at the nearest street sign.

"Uh, 11th and Division," he said squinting to make out the letters that were so far off. His eyes swept across the street before landing on a deli on the corner. "Uh, Drew?"

"Yeah?"

"My... legs are getting tired," Adam lied poorly. "Think you could come get me?"

There was a short pause. Adam could practically _see_ Drew's patent concerned face; brows drawn together, mouth tugged down in a frown.

"Sure thing."

"I'll be in Rico's Deli," Adam said, quickening his step as he neared the deli.

"Be there in five," Drew promised.

"Okay," Adam relaxed a little as he stood in front of the door. He allowed himself a brief glance behind him and caught a glimpse of a black sedan. "See you soon."

"Call me if you need anything," Adam could hear the sound of Drew grabbing the keys in the background.

"Will do."

"Bye."

He hung up and stepped inside the deli.

Adam drank half of a coconut smoothie before his phone vibrated in his pocket.

**Drew; 5:42 pm**

_**Outside.**_

He rose hastily and rushed to meet Drew outside.

The moment he stepped out he felt eyes on him. He turned slowly and saw a beat-up black sedan parked across the street.

Mark Fitzgerald sat casually in the driver's seat.

His face was swollen – large purple bruise along his right cheekbone.

The moment their eyes met his face melted from quiet determination into a grim smile. He waved slowly.

Adam let out a shaky breath and tried to force his body to remain calm.

A loud honk shook him out of his dread-induced stupor.

"Adam! Hurry the hell up, I'm not supposed to be parked here," Drew called.

Adam shook his head and ran to the car, getting in and tossing the camera in the backseat with less care than was probably preferred by the schoolboard.

"What the fuck's going on?" Drew demanded. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Adam exhaled shakily and let his head roll to the window.

_Oh my God._

"Adam?" Drew pressed.

"I..."

"What happened?" Drew asked, voice rising with panic. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Adam managed raggedly.

"What happened?" Drew asked again. "Seriously, bro, you're freaking me out."

"Nothing happened, Andrew."

"Bullshit," Drew bit out. "Tell me."

Adam swallowed well aware that he couldn't expect Drew to back off twice in one day.

"Um... Clare," he said, the words springing to his mind suddenly, effortlessly. "The girl I like?"

"Yeah," Drew nodded slowly.

"She, uh, kissed another guy today," Adam finished, quietly, dropping his eyes to his hands twisting in his lap.

"Oh," Drew's voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

Motley Crue on the radio filled in the silence.

"I'm sorry," Drew offered awkwardly after a moment.

"Yeah," Adam said, running a hand over his face.

His heart was beating a mile a minute.

_The look on Fitz's face..._

He shuddered.

"Um, you know what they say," Drew continued after a beat. "Plenty of fish in the sea..."

"I know, Drew," Adam responded quietly. He didn't want sympathy he just wanted a quiet dark place to freak out on his own about, well... everything.

They pulled up in front of the house.

"Is mom home?" Adam asked.

Drew shook his head. "She's staying 'til 6 to work out some of the details for tomorrow..."

Adam nodded, feeling a bit of his anxiousness leave him.

They walked slowly up the driveway together.

"Do you," Drew's voice was almost... meek. "Do you need a hug? Or something?"

Adam barked out a laugh.

His chest ached dully. He could feel a stress migraine coming on. His throat was tight with lingering panic and the sick feeling of seeing Clare's mouth filled with Eli's tongue.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "I think I do."

Drew wrapped his arms tightly around Adam's shoulders and pulled him closer.

Adam let his head drop forward against Drew's shoulder and leaned his weight more fully against his brother's body.

Terror always made his legs weak.

* * *

**AN:** THE PLOT THICKENS. Or something. Did you vote in my poll? Go vote in my poll. Also review - even if it's just to shame me for my sloppy updating.

-Orange


	8. note part deux

Sorry guys. I was just informed that people who responded to my previous note through reviews weren't able to review the actual chapter I uploaded here. I'll re-upload as chapter nine. Once again, sorry for the inconvenience!

-Orange


	9. Ch7: Fade In, Fade Out

**Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.**

**AN:** WOW. Five months without an update? I am a turd. A giant, steaming turd. Thanks so much to everyone who continued to shame/flatter me through reviews during the hiatus, they really did help keep me motivated. And thanks even more to everyone who so generously offered to volunteer themselves when I asked for beta help. I'm really grateful to have so many people who care about this thing enough to offer their time and effort! You guys are fantastic.

**unleashmysoul** beta'd THE FUCK out of this chapter. Holy cats, you guys, without her it probably would have taken _another_ five months for this update.

**Warnings:** Depressed teenager thoughts! Self-harm! Rampant cursing! VIOLENCE! The usual.

* * *

It had been about a week since that day at the park when Adam had his still-beating heart swiftly and ably ripped from his chest by his two best friends.

He winced.

Okay. Perhaps that was a tad dramatic.

But still...

It hurt.

It hurt like hell.

It wasn't really Clare picking Eli over him that cut him up.

It was that, for Clare, it was never really a _choice_.

The decision really sank in the day after everything went down. Sitting awkward and quiet at the lunch table while Clare sighed and played with Eli's fingers across the table. Eli was going on about some kind of nonsense and barely even paying attention to her (to anything but the sound of his own voice, really) but she was _so interested_ and when she spoke her voice was... unlike any tone she'd ever used addressing Adam.

And when Adam asked to borrow Clare's English notes the back cover was all hearts and Eli's name and Adam didn't know people actually did that sort of thing in real life.

And it hurt because he knew that he was never even a _choice _for Clare.

He knew from the first day he met her that she was All About Eli.

He knew that; but she was beautiful and nice to him and when she smiled his stomach did flip-flops and it felt _good_.

And she laughed when he told dumb jokes and she let him put his hands on her hips and hug her when he wanted to and...

He'd been chasing after Eli and Clare since the very first day. He'd been trying to catch up for weeks.

And it hurt like hell to find out he'd never even been in the goddamn race.

The self-pity was familiar and comfortable – it fit like an old glove. But it soon gave way to anger.

Eli was a complete dick he didn't even deserve her.

And why the fuck would Clare do this to him? She was smart and he was _painfully transparent_ when it came to his feelings for her and she'd played into him. She smiled coyly and winked and put her hand on his arm.

She was about to let him kiss her that day at the park. He was certain of it.

But why would she do that? Why would she do that if it was _this clear _she didn't want him like that? God, he felt like such a jackass.

He'd thought she was the most decent, sweet girl at the school – like she kind of understood him, a little. Or at least like she _could have_.

But now he just felt played. He felt stupid and betrayed and _pissed_ about it.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

His whole life had been doing a slow backslide since that day.

Fitz and Owen had been... making their presence known.

But they hadn't made a move yet, and that worried him.

A lot.

They'd been fucking with his locker. Sharpie-graffiti on the front - "I suck dick," "faggot," "kill yourself."

Malicious, but uncreative per usual.

Stuff like that didn't even get to him any more.

But the memory of Fitz's face through the car window.

That _smile_.

It burned his stomach and made his throat itch.

Yesterday he'd been walking down the hall when Owen stepped up out of nowhere and shoved him into a locker. Banged the shit out of his shoulder, but he didn't cry out so maybe it was a win.

On top of all that Clarence Dewey was sending him hateful looks every day. And his mom was back from her business trip and hassling him about, well, everything.

The classes he'd skipped were back to bite him in the ass and now his mother was flipping out about him hanging out with "the wrong crowd" and his grades and...

God, he felt like shit and he hated everything.

The worst part was that he had absolutely no one to talk to about it.

He couldn't exactly go to Clare and Eli about it.

His parents?

_Good Lord_, he'd rather pull out his own teeth with pliers.

He couldn't go to Drew.

If Drew found out about all the problem's he'd been having with guys at school he would absolutely flip his shit.

Drew had bled for him enough.

More than enough.

And Adam had fucked up his life too many times; he couldn't live with himself if he started the cycle again.

It was hard though; to face the days when everything felt so hopeless. Fact was, he'd never felt so... alone. Not in his whole life.

Things had been shit before, in St. Catherines, but he'd had his friends to fall back on. EJ and Mark and those guys.

And Laura.

But they were lost to him now. He'd left everything behind in a haze of percocet and gauze and it was far too late now to try and salvage the charred wood and ash of the bridges he'd burned.

And it felt like the new life he'd built for himself was about to go the same way.

The first half of the week he'd come straight home after school and hid away in his room.

Until his mother confronted him on Wednesday night and demanded to know what was wrong and why he wasn't hanging out with his friends and did one of them hurt you, Adam?

So he switched tactics.

He spent a few hours every day wandering around Toronto after school ended. He found a couple decent skate parks and sometimes he went to the library to mess around on the internet. He hadn't been to The Dot because nothing felt lonelier than being by yourself in a crowd of friends and lovers.

So now he was stuck; anxious and alone. He couldn't hide away in his own house, and he had no friends to escape to.

Not a day went by where he didn't find himself compulsively scratching at the scars on his arms through the thin material of his sleeves. The feeling of panic and helplessness grew in his chest seemingly by the hour. He wanted to hide away from the world. To take a quick bath in a tub of gasoline with a pack of matches and the resolve to do it _right _this time.

He'd always had the tendency toward... dark thoughts.

But the frequency and severity of the impulses he was getting now were startling, even to him. They'd gone from brief, jarring sparks of negativity to a constant violent hum in the back of his mind.

He slammed his fingers in the car door yesterday. They were purple and swollen and they ached when he moved them.

He couldn't figure out if it had been an accident or not.

Things had gotten bad enough for him to seriously consider calling Dr. Scott. He'd been as close as having the numbers punched into his cellphone, thumb hovering nervously over the send button, before he flipped the phone shut and threw it across the room.

What could Scott do, really?

She would refer him to a new doctor in the area. She would call his mother and tell her he needed help. They would want him to resume taking his medication but FUCK he couldn't stand it.

He preferred feeling like crap to not feeling at all.

The pills were the worst. He didn't get depressed – not in the same way, really. But it felt unfair. It felt _wrong._

His emotions were his _own_– even the shitty ones. Even the terrible ones. Even the ones that made him want to stick his hand down the garbage disposal.

Basically everything was shit and he wanted to die.

Okay, maybe not _die._

Not like he'd wanted it before.

But something similar.

_Getting there._

Adam flicked the lighter in his hand on and off incessantly, gaze flitting between the blue flame and the shiny patches of skin on his arm.

Yeah.

He was getting there.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

Adam sat in his room alone. It was 7 on a Saturday night – Drew was out with friends, his parents were downstairs, Eli and Clare were probably off somewhere fucking and laughing at him.

He pressed his back harder against the wall and bit down on his lip hard; gaze flicking between the hypnotic blue-gold wobble of the flame in his palm and some... _spectacularly offensive _installment of Danger Island playing soundlessly on his TV.

He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a few long moments, trying to quiet his thoughts; thumb pressed to the hot metal of the lighter, savoring the dull burn.

His whole body felt alive with panic. Outwardly he probably seemed calm; stoic, even. But inside he was a tumultuous mess of anxiety and dread.

He really wanted a drink. Okay, actually, he wanted to rip all of his skin off and set his bones on fire. But, barring that, he wanted a drink.

Or a joint.

Something. Anything – some kind of buffer between himself and his emotions.

_Ha, good Christ, guess I'm one of those weepy drunks, now. You gotta promise not to hold this against me once I sober up, bro!_

Or

_Oh, I'm not really this nervous. It's just the weed. Haha. You know how it is._

Something like that.

But, no – he couldn't drink at home—certainly not with his parents in the house. Besides drinking by himself was a low he wasn't prepared to hit while he was still in high school. He briefly considered Eli and the text he'd sent him yesterday about the skull-shaped bottle of vodka sitting on the top shelf in his closet but dashed the thought before it could really form.

No way was he going to Eli any time soon.

He'd rather be sober and miserable with a scrap of dignity than... than whatever turning to _Eli_ for comfort right now would make him.

He opened his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall and shifting uncomfortably on the bed. He brought his fist up against his knee and flicked the lighter on.

He enjoyed the heat that pooled around his thumb when he held the zippo at just the right angle. It didn't burn – not yet – but the heat was present. Insistent.

He licked his lips and glanced around nervously, eyeing the lock on his door for several long moments. The smell of burning butane drifted up to his nose and he let his gaze fall back on the flame. He ran his fingers through it – quickly at first, and then again slower. And slower. And then the flame was _so close _to the flat of his palm and he let his eyes drift shut, his teeth come down on his bottom lip when the pain built up.

For a moment there was... bliss.

And then

_Fuck, get your hand out of the fucking fire, dumb ass._

He jerked his hand back, clenching and unclenching his fist rapidly, shaking it in the air to cool it off. He hissed and set the lighter on his nightstand, grabbing his hand and inspecting his palm quickly.

_No marks._

He let out a sigh of relief.

It was a bit pink but didn't look bad. No one would notice.

He exhaled shakily and swung his legs of the bed, pressing his elbows against his thighs and burying his face in his hands.

His palm was hot against his cheek.

_I can't stay in here._

He swallowed hard.

_I can't._

Because that was _close_ and even now he still wasn't sure if it was worth it to stop himself. His arms itched and ached and he wasn't sure he had enough willpower to keep fighting the impulse to grab the lighter and do it _proper _this time.

He stood abruptly, taking a half-step toward his nightstand and sweeping the lighter into the top drawer where he wouldn't have to look at it.

_Okay. That helps._

He crossed the room to his stereo and grabbed his iPod, hitting pause. He'd been listening to his appropriately titled _Self-indulgent Bullshit_ playlist; all Thursday and old Glassjaw and My Chemical Romance. He'd been hoping to take comfort in the familiar sentiments but the dark mood of the music was hitting a bit _too_ close to home at the moment and he felt slightly better when the sudden silence swept over him.

He stood in the room for a long moment, timing his breath and trying to think. It was all dark except for the blue-white glow of the television set and the hall light that seeped in from the cracks in the doorway.

Maybe he should leave. Just- just get out of the house completely. It was cold outside, but he liked that. It made him feel alive and awake in a way that distracted from the panicked hum in his chest.

But where would he go?

Eli was really all he had in Toronto.

Well, Clare sometimes – but hanging out with her sans Eli was rare enough.

And besides – it was safe to say that they were the last two people he wanted to see right now.

Maybe he could call Drew-

But, no.

Drew had noticed the turn in Adam's mood and he would make it A Thing.

_Homework._

He could do homework.

He winced, as the severity of his thoughts seeped in. _Has it really come to this?_

He glanced at the computer in the corner of his room but decided to move to the living room and use the family computer.

He didn't feel quite safe being at alone with himself at the moment.

When he came down the stairs his mother twisted in his father's arms and smiled. "Hey stranger, where've you been?"

Adam licked his lips and tried to ignore the guilty tug in his heart as he unconsciously pulled his sleeves down over his palms.

"Just chilling in my room," he smiled awkwardly.

"Well, looks like you've decided to join the living," his father noted, glancing at him briefly. "Why don't you sit with us? News is just over, we were about to try and find something interesting."

The offer hung in the air for a moment and Adam considered it. When was the last time he'd done something with his parents?

It wasn't like they were awful.

They just really, really didn't get him.

But here they were - making an effort.

He gave a brief sigh. "I don't know. Maybe later? I came down here to do some homework, actually."

"Oh?" his mom asked.

"Uh, yeah," he rocked on his heels awkwardly. "My internet's being dumb."

"Again?" she frowned. "Omar, you should take a look at that tomorrow."

"Sure, sure," he waved her off, flipping through channels distractedly.

His mother rolled her eyes. "Well, let us know if the TV's too loud for you to concentrate or something, okay?"

"Sure, mom," he nodded, as he dropped into the computer chair.

He worked diligently on his World War I essay for over an hour; anchored by his parents' low chatter and the occasional laugh track of whatever awful sitcom they'd settled on watching.

The work was a pleasant enough distraction and he surprised himself by the ease with which he completed his essay. He spent another twenty minutes going back and cleaning it up until he felt he had something at least B-worthy.

Of course, it was just his luck that the printer was out of ink.

"Damn," he murmured.

"What?" his mother asked, tone sharp.

He winced, ducking his head. "Nothing, nothing."

"Adam," she warned.

"Printer's out of ink," he interjected, hoping to throw her off. He was fifteen years old, he should be allowed to curse.

Dammit.

"Is it?"she frowned. "Omar, I told you to pick some up last week."

His father sighed, muting the TV reluctantly. "Did you try shaking it?"

"We've been shaking it _all week_, Omar," his mom snapped back. "You know, I really don't expect you to do _much, _you could at least pick up new printer ink when I ask."

"Sorry, dear," he said robotically as he unmuted the TV.

"Dammit, Omar," she snatched the remote from him and shut it off. "Look, I spent three days in _Edmonton_, I obviously couldn't have done it, or believe me I wouldn't have resorted to _asking you_. All I said was to make sure the boys got to school, to pick up some toner, and..."

Adam winced, rising from his seat slowly. He grabbed his flashdrive from the computer.

"I'm just gonna..." he mumbled awkwardly. "I'll go use Drew's printer."

He slipped out of the room as Audra continued to berate his father.

Drew's room was dark, stuffy, and filthy. Adam cautiously sidestepped a particularly menacing looking pile of garbage as he crossed the room to turn on the lamp.

Clearing the clothes from Drew's computer chair, Adam sat down, taking notice of the blinking green light on his brother's tower. Adam wiggled the mouse and plugged in his flash drive as the computer left sleep mode.

And immediately his eyes were assaulted by the image of a smirking, naked buff dude jacking it while two girls with the longest fucking fingernails he'd ever seen made out in front of him.

"Oh. Dude. Ew," Adam winced, pausing the video and minimizing the window as quickly as possible.

His disgust was cut short by the window that had been buried by the porn.

Facerange.

_**Welcome, Drew. You have 6 friend requests and 92 other requests.**_

Adam's throat tightened.

His eyes flicked over the page but caught on a particular name.

**Laura Hyde – **_**Hey, D. Catch the game? The Leafs ATE IT OMG. Totally called it lol**_  
_**20 minutes ago.**_

Adam's eyes locked on the thumbnail profile picture next to her name.

Her hair was longer, now.

It looked darker. Maybe she dyed it.

His mouth went dry and he could feel his heart rate increasing, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the pixelated rendering of her face on the computer screen. Unconsciously, his hand rose to his mouth, he bit down hard on his thumb, only stopping when he tasted blood. He looked down at the torn skin distractedly and wiped the blood on his pants.

Exhaling harshly Adam shifted his focus to the cursor hovering over the hyperlink to her page.

_God_.

He held off clicking the link, instead scrolling down Drew's page.

The sheer volume of friends struck him like a fist to the gut. His chest hurt and his stomach churned. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, his face growing an uncomfortable pink as he fought back the wave of nausea that hit him.

Sweeping over the comments he was relieved to find mostly names he didn't really recognize. There were some people he recognized from Degrassi: KC Guthrie, Alli Bhandari, Chantay Black. But the majority were people he wouldn't be able to pick out of a crowd.

After a moment he almost started to relax.

And then he noticed the other names. Older names.

Mark McCallum, Sam Goldman, Brenda Chen, EJ Masud...

Laura, again.

It was like Drew had found everyone it had hurt Adam most to leave and added them all to spite him.

**Drew Torres – **Watching New Moon for the second time. They don't take away your man-card for this, do they?  
**Laura Hyde and 12 others liked this.**  
**Eyad Masud – **Gross, Drew. I don't know about your man-card, but I'm not sure if we can be friends anymore.  
**Laura Hyde – **Says the boy who watched it for the _third time _last night.  
**Drew Torres – **Ha!  
**Eyad Masud – **You made me!  
**Laura Hyde – **maybe, but you liked it. ;)  
**Drew Torres – **hey, lovebirds, keep it off my wall...

_Lovebirds?_Adam tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, blood pounding in his ears. The cursor hovered over the blue text of Laura's name.

He clicked, bringing his abused thumb back to his mouth and gnawing viciously. He winced at the sharp, metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

The page loaded.

**In a relationship with Eyad Masud.**

_Jesus._His stomach twisted painfully, and he turned in the chair away from the computer. Burying his face in his hands he tried to breathe.

His girlfriend.

His best friend.

It didn't even make any sense. EJ and Laura had only been friends through Adam. They got along well enough, but they didn't have very much in common. Laura played soccer and lacrosse, and was in Academic Decathlon She spent her free time volunteering with her church and reading those ridiculous supernatural romance novels. EJ lived to skate, and sang in a screamo band, and as a lapsed Muslim, went to great lengths to dodge the Imam that lived on his street. They were friendly, but distant. The only reason they really interacted at all was because they both cared about Adam.

So, how the hell did they go from being casual friends to dating?

Adam rubbed his throbbing temples and struggled to get control of his thoughts. He spun the chair slowly back to the computer and began reading.

He skimmed the comments on her wall distractedly, mostly comments from her friends and family about things that he knew nothing of. A soccer game she'd won, a particularly hard exam, her sister's birthday party.

**Eyad Masud** – Happy one month, baby!  
**Laura Hyde** – Thanks, EJ. It's been amazing, I'm so lucky to have you!  
**Mark McCallum** – Congrats you guys.  
**Brenda Chen – **Yeah, you guys make a great couple. I'm so happy for you both!

He read that one over and over again, feeling more and more betrayed. So, Mark and Brenda were in on it too. That probably meant that Sam, and Brian, and Dani all knew about it too. And if they knew, and Drew knew (God, Drew) then, well... that was everyone.

His girlfriend and his best friend were dating and everyone who'd ever meant anything to him knew and they didn't care. They were congratulating them. Didn't they see how fucked up it was? Didn't they care about him any longer? Was he really that easy to forget?

He scrolled up and found an album titled People I Heart

Immediately the screen filled up with photos; Laura embracing her parents, posed with her sister smiling above a birthday cake, her arms around several of her girl friends at some event or other. EJ, shirtless and sweating on stage, mouth open in a scream at some gig. Another picture taken presumably the same night. Laura pressing her lips to a still shirtless EJ's cheek, arm outstretched to snap the picture.

The next picture was taken by some unseen third party. EJ with his arm wrapped around Laura's shoulder. Laura was wearing a light blue dress, that stopped just above her knees, her long hair spilling curls down her shoulders, smile wide and genuine. EJ's hair was perfectly coiffed, his teeth a gleaming white against the deep mahogany of his skin.

It was helpfully captioned First Date!

They looked happy.

His limbs felt heavy, and his heart beat a painful sluggish tempo against his ribcage.

He jumped as the door cracked open and Drew stepped into the room.

"Hey, bro," he began, a little startled as he maneuvered around the pile of dirty clothes at the entrance to his room. "What are you doing in-?"

Drew froze, his eyes darting from Adam's bitter smile to the picture of EJ and Laura embracing on the screen.

There was a long tense pause.

"What are you doing in here?" Drew asked quietly, dropping his eyes to the ground, unable to hold Adam's vengeful gaze.

Adam barked out a harsh laugh. "What am I...? Really, Drew?"

Drew looked up. "I'm sorry," he offered with a small, helpless shrug.

"You're sorry?" Adam repeated, head spinning, eyes burning. He drew himself up from the chair. "Fuck you!"

He tried pushing past Drew to get out of the room but Drew's hand on his arm yanked him painfully back into place.

"Keep your fucking voice down," Drew hissed, tightening his grip threateningly.

"How could you fucking do this to me?" Adam demanded, face flushed with anger. "How could you-?"

Drew let him go, turning away from him. "I didn't do anything."

"You," Adam sputtered. "You swore you'd go under the radar for me. You said you understood, and you swore-"

"I did!" Drew shot back. "I didn't make that page for months! But they found me. They tracked down Grams, and they got our number and they called the house. Jesus Christ, Adam, they were so worried. They were just looking for you. I convinced them to stop trying to find you, but they wouldn't back off until I promised to let them know how you were doing and it just... went from there."

Adam couldn't stand the earnestness in Drew's face. He turned from his brother, feeling a hot burning pressure building behind his eyes. "It's not fucking fair," he accused, hating the sharp crack of his voice. "It's not fucking fair. I gave them up. I had to fucking give them up, but-"

"You didn't have to do anything!" Drew shouted. Adam flinched at the sudden outburst feeling off-balance until his rage caught up with him.

"Fuck off, Drew, you don't know anything about what I was going through!"

Drew grimaced. He grabbed Adam's arm again and began pulling him to the door.

"Get you fucking hands off me," Adam seethed, feeling a tight ball of panic beginning to wind in his stomach. It was Drew and Drew wouldn't hurt him, but still-

"Shut up," Drew ordered shortly. "And don't make a scene for once in your fucking life."

Drew dragged him down the stairs seemingly impervious to Adam's most vicious glares.

"Wait here," Drew instructed, leaving Adam in front of the door while he trotted into the living room. He saw Drew lean over the couch and exchange some words with their mother. Audra passed him the keys.

"Let's go," Drew commanded as he yanked open the front door and stalked angrily toward the car.

**X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X**

The car ride passed entirely in silence. Adam with his head tucked sullenly into his chest, arms crossed, fists clenching as a storm of betrayal and anger roiled chaotically in his gut. Drew sat rigidly, back straight, every muscle tense, eyes never once darting from the road.

After a short ride, Drew pulled into the Degrassi parking lot. It was completely empty, illuminated only by a few scattered street lights. Wordlessly, the older boy killed the engine and left the car, walking toward the low chainlink fence a few yards to the right of them. Adam followed wordlessly, bruised, swollen hand throbbing painfully as he watched Drew effortlessly hop the fence in front of them. Determined not to show any weakness, Adam followed suit, hissing painfully at the strain placed on his injured fingers.

Drew lead him across the field, toward the baseball field. He stopped abruptly atop the pitcher's mound and looked back at Adam.

"Well?" He called to his brother, spreading his arms out expectantly.

"Well what?" Adam scowled, unsure.

"You wanted to yell," Drew sneered. "Go ahead. Let me have it."

Thrown off guard by the bitterness in Drew's voice and the strangeness of the whole situation it took Adam a moment to get his anger back. He thought about Laura and EJ's smiling faces in the pictures, and of Drew's broken promise, and of Eli's hand brushing Clare's cheek, and Bianca's refusal to look him in the eye. He thought about his mother's over-protective harping, and his father's constant disinterest, and the weight of Patrick Duffy's knees on his chest, and the taste of blood.

"How the hell could you do this to me?" Adam roared. "After everything that happened. After everything I gave up! I explained to you why it was so important that no one else found me, why we had to stay offline! And you said you understood, you said you'd do it for me!"

"Eej and Laura are the only ones who know we're in Toronto!" Drew shot back. "And I told them they couldn't say anything. Do you really think they'd tell anyone? Do you really think they'd betray you like that?"

"Well, it wasn't so hard for you," Adam sniped, feeling slightly guilty at the shell-shocked look on Drew's face. He pushed the emotion away, thinking again of those awful pictures, the sharp sting of treachery. He pressed on, taking advantage of his brother's stunned weakness.

"Is there some kind of fucking conspiracy out there to make my life hell? Why is it that everyone is constantly _shitting_ on me? Huh? Did you and the rest of the world get together and decide to make it _impossible _for me to be happy? Is that it?"

"Jesus, Adam," Drew shook his head in disgust. "You make your own life hell, you know. You fucking love it. You get off on this martyr shit, and you know it. You act like you're the only one who's ever had to give anything up."

Adam's breath hitched as Drew towered over him. He shook off the feeling of intimidation and plowed on. "Fuck you, Andrew!" Adam exploded, shoving Drew back. The older boy stumbled and looked up, shocked. "You have no clue. No _fucking clue_! You think I like living like this? Fuck you. You don't know anything about what it is to be miserable. Not all of us can live your fucking charmed life, Drew."

"Charmed life?" Drew laughed harshly.

"Yeah. Don't you fucking deny it. You have _everything_, Drew. Everything," Adam sneered. "It's been that way since we were kids. Mom trusts you more, Dad's so goddamn proud. You have all the friends, all the girls, all the opportunities-"

"Mom _trusts me_ because I've never given her a reason not to," Drew cut in. "Dad's _proud_ of me for the same reason I _have _the friends and the girls and the opportunities. I went out and _made it happen_. I don't just sit around pissing and moaning about all the shit I don't have. I _do something_ about it-"

"Pissing and moaning?" Adam repeated, shocked. "So, basically, you think my problems amount to _shit. _Why am I not shocked?"

"That's not what I said," Drew frowned. "Don't turn it around on me, you're _completely _missing the point."

"And what _is_ the point, Drew? That I should just fucking.. get over it? Get over all the shit I've been through? Christ, you're _so clueless_," Adam tugged his hair in frustration.

"You say that like it's _my fault_," Drew shot back. "_You're_ the one that's always shutting everyone out! No one can get fucking close to you, Adam. We _try_-"

"You _try_," Adam mocked. "What exactly are you guys _trying_ to do besides suffocate me?"

"Suffocate you?" Drew shook his head, incredulous; fists shaking in rage at his sides. "Is _that_ what you think we're doing?"

"You and mom, at least," Adam glowered. "You couldn't _pay_ dad to give a shit."

"_Jesus__, _Adam," Drew shouted, throwing his hands in the air. Adam flinched, at the sudden movement. "They don't know what to fucking _do _with you any more! Wanna know the truth? They're fucking _scared to death _of you!"

"Scared-?" Adam began, lip curled derisively.

"_Yes_," Drew cut him off with a hiss, stepping in close again. "But you're too up your own goddamn ass to see any of that, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah," Adam goaded. "Let's forget all about _my _problems and talk about how fucking _hard _I make life for everyone else."

"This whole family's fucking _revolved _around your problems for two years now!" Drew exploded. "_Everything _we do, _everything _we say, we think about _you_ first!"

Adam snorted.

"You keep talking," Drew began, "about all the things you've given up. As if we haven't sacrificed anything for you. And have we complained? _No._ Not fucking _once_, Adam-"

"Don't even _begin _to act like you've lost as much as I have," Adam interrupted, voice heavy with emotion. "Not after tonight."

"Stop playing the fucking victim!" Drew demanded. "You didn't give them up, you _ran away._"

"How the hell was I supposed to stay there after what happened?"

"We could have found a way," Drew swore. "But that's not the point. You keep whining about the things you 'gave up' but the truth is, you didn't 'give up' anything. You _abandoned _everything."

"Oh, please-"

"Let me fucking _talk," _Drew shouted. "Laura and EJ tried for _weeks_ to find us. They were so damn worried, man, you have _no _idea. What was I supposed to do when they found me? Tell them to fuck off? Maybe _you're _okay with fucking over the people that love you, but I can't handle it, okay?"

"Fuck you," Adam bellowed, voice cracking. "You expect me to buy that? You expect me to believe that they _loved me_ when as soon as my back's turned they're _together_?"

"It's been five months!" Drew defended. "And, honestly, what the _fuck _do you expect Adam? Did you want Laura to just sit around pining? How is that fucking fair? You _left them _and they were _so_ messed up over it. EJ was all she had left of you. They were _there _for each other after you took off and-"

"I'm just saying, it's a pretty damn quick turn around," Adam interjected. "For all I know they were _there for each other _weeks before I ever left."

"Fucking_ seriously_, Adam?" Drew rolled his eyes.

"What am I supposed to _think_?" Adam cried. "If you _love_ someone, you don't hook up with his best fucking friend a few months after he leaves."

"You do if your coward boyfriend doesn't even have the decency to try to explain things. Hell, you didn't even stick around long enough to break up with her!" Drew pointed out.

"I was so _so fucked up_, Andrew," Adam defended himself. "_Jesus_, I was doing alright and then suddenly, I'm a goddamn statistic. I'm just another number in a fucking hate crimes report. Do you have any clue what that even feels like?"

"Yes," Drew hissed. "I do. You might have been the only one that got _jumped_ that day, but don't stand here and look me in the eyes and tell me you were the only one who got hurt. Don't _tell me_ that me, and mom, and dad, and Laura EJ and everyone else's pain doesn't _count_ somehow. Okay?"

"It's not the same," Adam shook his head.

"It's not!" Drew agreed. "What makes it different, is that we're all _trying to heal._We want to move on-"

"So do I!" Adam yelled. "More than _anything else_, I want to move on! But-"

"Bullshit," Drew snapped. "You _don't_. You don't want to move on-"

"_Yes_, I do," Adam protested. "Not a _day _goes by where I don't think about it. _Not a day_-"

"And I'm sure you wouldn't have it any other way," Drew stepping forward again, to stare threateningly into Adam's eyes. His voice dropped an octave. "Because you _love_ it. Face it, Adam. You're using _your pain_ as an excuse to hurt _everyone else_."

"Get out of my fucking face," Adam shoved Drew back viciously, swallowing back a lump of frustration as the older boy barely budged. "_Don't _try to fucking intimidate me."

"What, so you can play rough but I can't?" Drew pushed Adam back, stepping closer as he stumbled back.

"_Don't_," Adam warned. "Touch me again and I swear-"

"Why not?" Drew mocked, shoving him again. "Not so fun, is it? Not so fucking fun being pushed around by your fucking brother, isit?"

Adam stumbled back, anger and fear rising in his chest. His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears. His lungs crashed against his aching ribs with every frantic inhale.

Drew's expression was hard and menacing; the floodlights casting grim shadows across the familiar planes of his face.

Adam licked his dry lips, feelings his shoulders relax as his fists slowly unclenched. This was too much. It was just too-

_You fucking piece of shit._

_Lose the vag._

_Faggot._

Adam's fingers curled slowly back in toward his palm, short nails digging angry red crescents into his skin.

_I was the victim_, Eli's words rang in his ears as clearly as if the boy were uttering them aloud. _But then I decided not to let that happen anymore._

_We're not going to let them get away... with hurting you._

_They never expect you to fight back._

_You gotta make 'em sorry._

"That's it!" Adam shouted furiously, flecks of spit flying from his lips. He planted his feet into the ground and shoved the larger boy with all of his strength. Adam felt a jolt of excitement and satisfaction run through his body as Drew staggered, slightly."Fight me," he ordered.

"No."

_Truth is... fuckers like that can't handle a fight_.

"Fight me," Adam snarled, lunging forward again, satisfaction mounting as Drew shoved him back once more, rougher this time.

"No!"

_That's why you gotta give it to 'em._

"C'mon," Adam challenged breathlessly. He lashed out, fist cutting a wide ark through the air, landing hard against Drew's shoulder. Adam's already injured hand throbbed blissfully at the contact.. "C'mon."

Drew flinched in pain, body jerking back slightly."Don't do that again," he warned, voice whisper-quiet.

Adam scowled, and swung out again. Anticipating the blow, Drew easily deflected the sloppy punch, stepping forward and shoving Adam back a few feet.

Adam coughed as dirt from the field rose up around him but held his ground.

Drew ran his hand across his brow and down his face, his conflict plain ins his eyes. He sighed restlessly and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Fuck Adam, I'm not going to fight my little sis- My brother. My little brother."

"See?" Adam threw his hands up. "See? You don't fucking accept me. None of you do! What the fuck do I have to do to get you to see me for who I am?"

"We _do _accept you!" Drew rebutted, voice hot with exasperation and frustration.

"Yeah," Adam laughed bitterly. "That's why mom won't let Grams come visit. Because she _accepts me_ so much."

"Jesus Christ Adam, could you play another fucking record already. This 'poor me' shit is getting old. I'm _sick _of having the same damn argument," Drew snapped.

"C'mon," Adam goaded, swinging again, ignoring the pain in his wrist as Drew twisted his arm and pushed him back. "Fight me like a man."

"You're _not _a man," Drew ground out, teeth clenched, eyes downcast.

Adam stilled, sick feeling flooding his stomach as he looked as his brother. A metallic taste flooded his mouth as he choked out, "What did you just say?"

Drew raised his head slowly and locked eyes with Adam. His measured voice tinted with an undercurrent of apprehension, "I said your not a ma-"

Adam lashed out furiously, catching Drew's mouth with his fist. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Adam's knuckles slipped past Drew's lips, skin tearing on the sharp edge of his brother's front teeth. Drew stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and landing in a dusty heap atop the pitcher's mound.

Adam stood above his brother, shocked, fist throbbing.

_Oh God._

_What the fuck did I just do?_

Adam felt his face pale as Drew looked up at him, fingers pressed to his bleeding mouth. Drew pulled his hand back, staring transfixed at the blood that stained his fingertips. After a moment Drew wiped his hands on his shirt and picked himself up off the floor, mouth twisted in an expression of disgust.

_He pushed me_, Adam told himself. _I didn't want to hit him, but he fucking _pushed _me._

Drew stared at him wordlessly, contempt and pity casting a dark shadow on his handsome features.

"How's that, Adam?" He rasped. "Feel like a man?"

Adam exhaled, rage mounting hot and bitter in his chest. "Drew," he warned.

"No, I'm serious," Drew wiped his mouth distractedly. "How'd that feel, Tough Guy?" Because you _hit like a girl._"

Adam shot forward again with a scream, swinging a hard right at his brother. Drew blocked the punch, grabbing Adam's wrist. Adam's left fist rocketed up, catching Drew's stomach, and his leg kicked out, sweeping Drew's feet out from under him. Drew rocked backwards and Adam pressed his advantage, using his body weight to knock Drew onto his back again.

"What now, Andrew? _What_?" Adam demanded, eyes wild, fist shaking at his sides.

Drew lay in the dirt, chest heaving, blood smeared bright red across his quivering chin.

"Still not going to fight back?" Adam laughed hollowly. "Can't say I'm shocked. You'd rather get wailed on by a guy half your size than fight back. You're such a fucking pussy."

Drew's fingers dug into the red-brown dust of the pitchers mound but he remained silent and otherwise unmoving.

"You're such a fucking pussy," Adam declared. "Never much good in a fight, were you? Remember that time Duffy's friends threw me in that dumpster? Actually, did you even get to see that or did Patrick's boot on your chest block your view?"

A short, breathy sound escaped Drew's parted lips as his eyes widened. A small, anguished chirp that faded quickly into the night.

Adam reveled in it, in the pain on Drew's face and the power it brought him.

"Fact is, you were never much of a risk-taker," Adam continued, delight growing exponentially with every cruel word that slipped past his lips. "Never did anything you weren't positive you could succeed at. Say, think that might be why Josie cheated on you? You weren't taking care of business and she thought the rest of the football team could do a better job?"

It was too far. He knew it immediately, but the point was made all the more apparent to him when Drew's legs kicked out and sent him staggering. Drew shot to his knees, following Adam's backward stumble, lunging forward with his arms around the smaller boys legs, taking him to the ground.

Adam's head bounced on the ground, teeth snapping painfully together, catching his tongue and filling his mouth with the taste of copper. His vision swam briefly as Drew scrambled up his body, straddling Adam's stomach and gripping the front of his shirt furiously. The football player jerked Adam up and then slammed him into the ground once more, the back of Adam's head making a dull, but audible _thunk_ as it hit the dirt again.

Adam jerked his body viciously against Drew's grip, writhing and bucking. Drew increased the pressure on Adam's body, palms digging painfully into his collar bone. Adam shut his eyes against the pain, the sound of snapping bone jumping to the forefront of his memory and filling him with a surge of panic-induced strength. He twisted abruptly, using all his strength to propel his body up from the floor, catching Drew off-guard with his unexpected burst of energy.

He rolled his body half out from under the taller boy, using the element of surprise to his advantage and flinging himself at Drew again, knocking the older boy onto his side. Adam kneed Drew hard in the stomach, using the pressure to knock his brother onto his back. He thrust his right arm hard against Drew's upper chest, edging toward his neck, grabbing his wrist with his left hand to keep up the pressure.

Drew choked slightly, eyes bulging before he jerked up. Adam's leverage was lost the moment Drew's shoulders left the dirt and he found himself momentarily airborne by the force of Drew's rebound.

He tried to brace himself for the impact but still found himself stunned, sick feeling flooding his stomach briefly. He struggled to rise to a sitting position but the weight of Drew's body sent him reeling back into the dirt. Dust flew up around them as he struggled panicked and increasingly fatigued. Drew dug his knee into the dirt and used his leverage to roll Adam onto his side.

Blood and grit filled his mouth and he felt tears spring to his eyes as his vision swam. Pain filled his mind as Drew twisted his left arm painfully behind his back, one knee planted firmly against Adam's spine. Drew's free hand found the back of Adam's head and ground his cheek into the floor. The sand stung his skin, but he ceased his struggling, blood and drool pooling against his face.

Adam's struggles eased as Drew jerked his arm _hard_. As the pain swept over him he shuddered, fighting back a wave of dark, hazy memories brought raging to his consciousness by the all-too-familiar sensations.

"Gkk," Adam hissed through clenched teeth. "Give," he whispered hoarsely.

For a moment the only sounds were of the brothers' heavy breathing and the distant sounds of traffic.

"What?" Drew's voice was unsure, but his grip was already beginning to loosen.

Adam's eyes shut painfully. He pushed as much blood and saliva passed his lips before he spoke again. "I give."

Drew rolled off him quickly, falling back to his elbows on the dirt next to him.

Adam gingerly eased himself onto his back, arms spread out from his body as he rolled his shoulder, trying to get the feeling back into his fingers.

They breathed and were quiet.

"I'm sorry," Adam murmured after several long moments. He dared a sideways glance at his brother, expecting anger, hatred, another twisted arm.

But Drew was quiet, staring down at his knees, face pensive.

"Andrew," Adam tried again, louder. "I'm sorry."

Drew flicked his eyes up, meeting his brother's gaze. Something passed between them, some kind of understanding. Adam felt his shoulders relax as Drew shook his head and fell flat on his back.

"Fucker," he whispered, his foot slipping sideways to kick Adam's ankle.

Adam swallowed and allowed himself a short chuckle.

The ringing of Drew's cellphone broke the silence.

"Hello?" Adam heard his brother answer. There was a pause and then, "Yeah, they didn't have it. I don't know, I guess they sold out. Anyway, we went to the one on Brubaker instead. Be home in a few, okay? Love you too. Bye."

Drew rose to his feet shakily, turning to offer his hand to Adam. He accepted gratefully and allowed himself to be pulled up.

"I might have told mom we were going to get some soy milk."

"Shoy milk?" Adam grimaced, spitting out another mouthful of blood. He pressed his bleeding tongue against his cheek.

Drew shrugged.

"Yeah, we've gotta hit A&P on the way home."

"Oh."

The walk back to the car was silent.

"I lied," Drew admitted, turning the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life.

"Huh?" Adam glanced at him, confused.

"When I said you hit like a girl," he clarified, wincing. "That _hurt_, motherfucker."

* * *

**AN:** Wow. 21 pages on word. I'm so sorry, you guys, that it took this long to post but I'm going to try my hardest to get the next chapter done up as quickly as possible. Thanks so much to everyone who stayed with me this long. And thanks, new readers, for giving this a try!

Review, if you've got the time. Any and all feedback is valuable to me. Thanks for your time, guys!

-Orange


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